


A Driver Worth His Salt

by thefandomsinhalor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Blow Jobs, Cars, Crimes & Criminals, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 67,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24990613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefandomsinhalor/pseuds/thefandomsinhalor
Summary: Twenty-year-old Dean Winchester hates fixing up stolen cars on the side for Gordon Walker. But with his grandfather’s dry-cleaning business slowly dying, medical bills piling up, and his younger brother Sam abandoning the prospect of attending college because of their grim situation, Dean convinces himself that it isn’t as reckless as it seems.When everything goes belly up, leaving him in a troubling position with the wrong people, a representative of the Garrisons, the city’s most powerful and notorious family, offers Dean to help him with his situation in exchange for his employment.The job is simple: drive the passenger a few times a week to yet-undisclosed locations and return with said passenger without fail. Don’t ask questions. Be on time. Be discreet.And never interact with each other outside of work.Shady, but simple.So, he accepts.But once he meets the passenger in question—the sharply dressed and rough-looking Castiel Novak—Dean finds that abiding those rules may be more complicated than he had anticipated.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 108
Kudos: 247
Collections: BottomDeanBigBang2020, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter One: The Interview

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for Bottom Dean Big Bang 2020. Thank you mods for organizing this challenge, it was a wonderful experience and I feel very honoured to be able to participate in the very first BDBB challenge ever. 
> 
> I want to thank, as always, my betas Danica_Dust and Landrala who are beyond helpful, amazing, and just THE BEST. There are no words.
> 
> And I'd like to thank Sissyray, who not only has done an amazing job with the art, but also for her support and encouragement throughout this process. I feel incredibly lucky to have been paired with her.
> 
> I had a lot of fun with this story. It's a little grittier than what I usually do but I think it's for the right reasons. I hope you enjoy the story!
> 
> Happy reading!

Following the instructions that he had been given earlier that day, Dean continued all the way to the end of Host Street and took the back alley to reach the secondary entrance of _The Gates_.

He passed the baby blue Buick, which earned a double back so he could admire the car for a second, and was let inside the lounge after giving his name to the security guy.

Even though this was nothing more than the back entrance and not the area meant for their customers, he had to admit, the place had a classy vibe attached to it.

The dark marble floor, with golden veins, was so shiny that Dean could see himself in it. And the high ceiling, dim lighting and rich texture of the walls soon made him feel exposed. Out of place.

His jeans and leather jacket were making him feel underdressed.

And as he was following the security guard who was built like a house, Dean was beginning to think going down this hallway was probably a fucking bad idea.

Turning around and making a run for it before it was too late was definitely a rising thought.

But taking in his circumstances, he did no such thing. After everything, running away would most likely be a death sentence at this point.

So, he slowly advanced down that larger than life corridor and tried to not overreact.

When they finally reached large oak doors, two men who stood guard exchanged words with the security guard Dean had been following.

Dean shifted on his feet, glanced to his right and saw a woman sitting at a desk, typing away and totally focused on her task, not acknowledging them in the least.

He heard his name being mentioned, and one of the guards studied Dean for a moment.

Uneasiness was rapidly spreading in his chest, but Dean attempted to hide it by standing perfectly still.

And then the guard nodded, signaled Dean to follow him, and opened the door.

It opened into a large room, with tall windows, luxurious leather armchairs and a massive fireplace at the other end of the room. A bright red carpet was laid underneath the tasteful furniture.

A man was standing by a window, looking outside and holding his hands behind his back. Apparently unfazed by the disturbance of Dean’s entrance.

Another one was seated at the desk, which was on the right side of the room, before the wall of bookshelves behind it, and two other men were sitting in the armchairs facing the desk.

They had noticed Dean’s entrance. The moment the door had opened, they stood up as though they were about to take care of a potential threat.

Which made Dean pause.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir,” said the guard.

“And whom do we have here?”

“Dean Winchester.”

“Ah. Yes. Winchester,” said the man behind the desk. He was tall, middle aged with very short silver hair on the side of his head. He gave the men in front of him quick directives prior to dismissing them both, along with the security guard, and gestured for Dean to take a seat.

The man by the window did not move.

Seriously rethinking his motives for being there, Dean did as he was told, knowing full well that storming out of that room would help no one, least of all himself.

“So, Dean. Nice to have an official introduction at last. I’m Mr. Adler. You may call me Zachariah.”

“Hello,” said Dean, nodding. His eyes briefly shifted to the man to his left, who still remained as he was.

And had offered no introduction.

That being said, judging by his expensive suit and his attitude, Dean had a good idea of the identity of the man in question. And if he was right, he was convinced that an introduction would soon follow.

“Did you find the place, okay?” asked Zachariah.

“Yes. I—I knew where it was.”

“Never been though?”

“Um, no. No, sir.”

“Hmm. Well, you get to scratch that off your to-do list,” he said jokingly. He leaned back in his seat, fixed his tie and observed Dean intensively for an instant.

His long silence and hard stare made Dean’s mild anxiety spread in his stomach, until he heard the other man say, “So, what is the purpose of your visit, Mr. Winchester?”

“I’m the one who invited him,” said Zachariah. “It came to my attention that young Dean has run into a bit of trouble. Nothing we couldn’t fix for him. But this requires a proper discussion, which is why he is here.”

Before Dean could say anything, the other man said gravely, “However unfortunate his situation may be—and I am sure it is—why should we be inclined to help him? Or even trust him?”

“Well, Mr. Garrison, there are a few reasons. My personal favourite is that Dean, here, is Samuel Campbell’s grandson.”

The man turned to face them at last.

And Dean could finally confirm his suspicion of the man’s identity.

Uriel Garrison. One of five Garrison siblings.

And his eyes fell on Dean, evidently intrigued by this information.

“Samuel Campbell who owns that dry cleaning business on Hunter Street? Is that so?”

Dean nodded.

A faint smile appeared on Uriel’s face. “We have often requested Mr. Campbell if he could…lend us a hand in the past. And he always refused.”

Dean held his stare, not at all surprised by this information.

“And despite his stubbornness, which was rather frustrating, I always respected his tenacity,” continued Uriel. “He never caved and he was not stupid. Which was why when we heard what happened to his daughter all those years ago, we decided to… restrain ourselves from pursuing our requests. Out of respect for him. We made sure to let him know the door was always open should he need it and left him be. In all honesty, I expected him to show up, especially since the years have not been kind to him. But still, stubborn as ever, he never sought our help.” He paused a moment and then said, “Is that why you’re here, Mr. Winchester? On his business? Medical bills, perhaps? I heard he suffered a stroke not long ago. That must have put a serious dent in the savings. I’m asking if he knows of this little audience with us because I wonder what he might think of his grandson seeking our help without his knowledge.”

“No,” pressed Zachariah. “Dean is here for an entirely different matter. Like I said, he has run into some trouble. The kind that involves Gordon Walker.”

“Ah. Is this about what happened earlier this week?” He slowly walked towards the buffet not far behind Zachariah’s desk and began pouring himself a drink.

“Yes,” said Dean. And though all he wanted was to blurt out that none of it had been his fault and explain his side of the story—which happened to be the truth—knowing better, he bit his lips and said nothing.

And given the look that Uriel gave him, it seemed like he knew Dean’s struggle to keep quiet.

“How long have you been working for Walker?”

“Almost two years.”

“And what was your main skill set that he required of you?”

Dean swallowed. “A mechanic.”

Uriel squinted.

“That’s all?”

Dean nodded. “He, um, he offered other options but…”

“But what?”

“But being a mechanic was enough.”

Uriel shot a glance at Zachariah. “Why was that?”

“Frankly?”

“Yes. By all means.”

“I—I don’t like trouble, sir.”

“If you do what you’re supposed to, there shouldn’t be any trouble. And it would mean more money.”

“I—I’m not above money, but I—just doing that helped. That was enough.”

Uriel smirked. “Stubborn, but not stupid or greedy. You really are like your grandfather.”

Dean tried to not take it personally.

Uriel took a sip of his drink, his eyes studying Dean a moment and then said to Zachariah, “What did you have in mind for Dean? Move him to another garage? Work on the cars?”

“I thought he would be perfect for what we discussed last Thursday.”

Dean, trying to not panic, kept shifting his gaze from one man to the other, waiting for an explanation.

Uriel leaned his head backwards as though he had finally understood what Zachariah meant. “Interesting choice. However noteworthy, the skills of a mechanic don’t exactly sell what we were looking for.”

“Perhaps not, no,” said Zachariah. He then opened a desk drawer from his left, retrieved one file and presented it to Uriel. “This might though.”

Dean still had no clue whatsoever what was going on, and kept reminding himself that soon, no matter what, he would be able to walk out of there.

Hopefully in one piece.

After skimming through the file, it didn’t take long for Uriel to express a change of heart. He turned a few pages, shot a look at Dean and continued staring at the files.

“Interesting,” was all he said and then gave a short nod at Zachariah to pursue.

“All right, Dean. Here’s the thing. Like I told you before, this is quite the predicament you’ve found yourself in. I don’t think I need to tell you that.”

He really didn’t.

“Based on what I’ve heard—of the incident and about you—I believe you when you say that you had nothing to do with it. We know how Gordon is, he’s always looking out for himself and he’s a loose cannon. And judging from what I’m reading here,” said Zachariah, pointing at the file, “I don’t think snitching is your style.”

“It isn’t,” said Dean, now worried about what on earth the file contained.

“Which is why I thought we could help you. We can straighten out the situation with Gordon, the money and your reputation alike. The whole thing will be behind you, no problem.”

“How? I—I mean you no offense, I know who I’m talking to, but Gordon is…he won’t back off that easily.”

Zachariah, assessing Dean’s confusion, added, “Kiddo, you know that Walker is Kubrick’s man, no?”

Dean nodded. Everybody knew that.

“Well, who do you think Kubrick is working for?”

Dean had not expected that. But the moment Zachariah had pointed it out, it seemed painfully obvious, so much so that Dean now felt incredibly stupid that he hadn’t figured that one out yet.

“So, you see, we are in a position to clarify everything for you. In exchange, you come work directly for us. Not exactly moving up the ladder, but maybe down the line that will be an option if that’s what you want. In the meantime, your uncomfortable situation will go away and we will make Gordon listen, no problem. _If_ ,” he said, pausing dramatically,“you accept to work for us, of course.”

Feeling worry creep in his stomach, Dean remained very still. He observed the two men with caution and said, after swallowing as subtly as he could, “What is it that you want me to do?” ~~~~

“Essentially, you’d be driving a car.”

Silence.

“I—I don’t have a car.”

“You will be provided one.”

“Okay. Um, for what purpose? Driving the car, I mean.”

Zachariah shot a look at Uriel, who in turn nodded at him to continue.

“You’ll be picking up a passenger.”

“Every day?”

“No. Few times a week at the most. Nearly always at night. Irregular schedule, however. We will let you know in advance, don’t worry. But if you accept, I’d keep my evenings open just in case.”

“Where am I driving them? And who am I driving?”

“I’m afraid we can’t go deep into the details until you accept,” said Zachariah. “It’s very simple, Dean. All you have to do is show up where and when we ask you to, make sure the passenger reaches the location and returns where they are needed. That’s it.”

“Well, there is a little more than that,” added Uriel, “but Mr. Adler is correct in stating that those are the basics.”

Feeling their heavy stares on him, Dean was no longer comfortable with this conversation and was deeply fighting the urge to simply run out.

As though he had read his mind, Zachariah added, “You still work at your grandfather’s business during the day, correct?”

Dean nodded. “Morning to early afternoon.”

And the garage in late afternoon to evening, thought Dean.

“And as always, Samuel’s been struggling?”

Dean lowered his eyes.

“We understand you worked for Walker to help the family business. But that turned sour. Even if that wasn’t your doing. If you accept our offer, except for extreme circumstances, your schedule with us should not interfere with your family business. And you’ll have less work hours than what you had at the garage, but triple the pay. Which means more free time and less worry for you.”

Dean frowned. “Wha—what? Why?”

“We care about our employees. And we like them discreet.”

Dean’s mind was running really fast, unsure of what to do. Money, given everything, was certainly not anything to sneeze at. And not working for Walker would have been a gift from the sky _before_ the nightmare had occurred. Now, the idea of leaving the garage was almost a question of survival.

Be that as it may, a little voice inside Dean’s head told him that this was too good to be true.

That something didn’t add up.

Playing driver a few times a week—tops—and that was it?

The job sounded simple. Maybe a little too simple.

Simple enough that they didn’t need him to do it. Anyone with a license could do this.

So why him?

“Can I ask a question?” he said in a steady voice.

“Of course.”

“I know you said you can’t expand on the details—”

“Not until you fully accept, no. Like we said, discretion.”

“Right. But, um…I’m just wondering—I mean,” he stopped, cleared his throat and shifted on his seat. “You don’t have to tell me who it is…the passenger. Or—or even where or what….”

“Good. Because we weren’t going to.”

“What I mean is…why me? Driving a car…a lot of people can do that.”

“Not like you, they can’t,” said Uriel.

Dean frowned. He wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

“What Mr. Garrison means is that while all we ask of you is really just driving the car, we feel that certain skills and attributes would be the safer approach for this.”

“Like?”

“Dean,” said Zachariah, “don’t worry. You wouldn’t be standing here, if we didn’t think you’d be good for the job. I took the time to think about it and I was thorough in my selection.”

Meaning he had done more than a background check.

Which was definitely worrisome.

But Zachariah said, “The task description is really what I’ve told you. That’s it.”

“And I imagine you need an answer now,” said Dean.

“The sooner the better, yes. But we are reasonable people,” said Uriel. “You may take the day to think about it.”

Dean turned his eyes at Zachariah questioningly.

“We’ll give you a good twenty-four hours for you to meditate about it. We understand you have to weigh certain aspects of it. We don’t want you to make a rash decision. Come back with your answer tomorrow, same time. Deal?”

Eager to put as much distance between him and _The Gates_ , Dean didn’t linger around the moment he was back in that dark and smelly alley. He hastily reached the main street, joined the early evening crowd on the street that was rushing by, and hopped on the first bus that came his way.

A massive dose of relief hit him when the bus began moving.

Still feeling his heart racing, he checked the bus route on his phone with shaky hands. He quickly settled for a trajectory, and once he had deduced that he would have a good forty minutes of bus ride before leaving downtown—if there were no delays, and there were _always_ delays—he found himself a seat by the window and began to process everything.

Dean had only seen Zachariah at the garage once before. His stay had been brief. Just long enough to exchange a few words with Gordon in private, despite the entourage Zachariah had brought with him. And that was it. He had left as quickly as he had arrived. He hadn’t spoken to, nor looked at anyone else, Dean included, and that had been over a year ago.

Which was why Dean had been stunned to learn earlier that day that Zachariah Adler had requested an audience with him at _The Gates_.

About two hours in at the garage, in the late afternoon, one of Gordon’s visitors—and there had been many of those this past week—had casually approached Dean when Gordon was busy having an argument with other visitors and some of Dean’s colleagues.

He had been wearing a suit, much like the security guards at the lounge, now that Dean was thinking about it. He had been direct, but unthreatening.

He gave him a card, told him who wanted to meet with him and where, and had insisted that he stopped by as soon as he could.

“He knows about your predicament. And while Gordon can’t prove anything, which is why he hasn’t acted rashly so far, I don’t think things will improve for you here. So, paying a visit to Mr. Adler might help you.”

And without letting Dean ask any questions, he had left.

Fearing a trap, Dean had simply shoved the card in his jacket pocket and put the matter out of his mind. With the chaos at the garage, he already had enough problems to deal with. He wasn’t in a hurry to add another to the list.

But as the rest of the night went on, with Gordon’s aggravating temperament and the hostile vibe from the others, which had been the general attitude he had been exposed to since the incident had occurred, Zachariah’s cryptic invitation had become more interesting by the second.

So, the moment his shift had been over, instead of heading back home to his grandfather and Sam, Dean walked to the “L” to reach downtown.

And now, he didn’t know what to do.

Leaving the Gordon debacle aside for a moment, Dean couldn’t get over how the last hour had been down right trippy. And not the right kind.

The revelation that he had been working all along for Zachariah—and more specifically, the Garrisons—left him with a sour taste in his mouth.

And no matter how generous their job offer may have been, the amount of shade attached to it was bothersome to say the least.

Dean didn’t see eye to eye with his grandfather on many things, but where the Garrisons were concerned, he had to support Samuel on that one.

And that would be a problem.

He had been able to get away with working for Gordon without Samuel’s judgement because they had come to an understanding. Samuel knew from the get go who Gordon was and what Dean’s job had entailed. He hadn’t been thrilled about it, but they needed the money. And Dean had had the good sense to act responsibly about it. He knew the risks, so he didn’t embrace any ideas of grandeur. He did what he could, didn’t cause any trouble, nor did he ask for favours. And until a week ago, it had panned out.

But this? Being a driver to a mysterious passenger—at night—with three times the pay?

It would be difficult to explain this one to Samuel even if it didn’t have anything to do with the Garrisons.

Dean wasn’t stupid. There was something deeply troubling—'illegal’ troubling—connected to this gig. He simply wasn’t sure if it was in regards to the passenger in question, or the nature of their appointments, or even perhaps the location of those said appointments.

Hell, or even all of the above.

Working shady jobs wasn’t new to Dean. Usually though, he knew what he was signing up for. A fully detailed description of the job, as well as the risks it brought.

This was going in blindly.

And the fact that they didn’t seem to have that much of an issue with that, insisting on only revealing everything to Dean _once_ he accepted, wasn’t really inspiring.

This was in fact a bad idea.

But so was continuing to work at the garage, reasoned Dean.

He hated saying it, but without Zachariah’s intervention, Dean was screwed. It wasn’t like he could just quit at the garage. He knew too much. It was one of the few reasons why Gordon hadn’t told Dean to hit the road. Also, working at the garage or not, Dean was now, regardless of his innocence, on Gordon’s shit list. There wasn’t much that would shield him from Gordon’s inevitable retaliation.

Except maybe Zachariah’s influence.

After a long and contemplative bus ride, Dean took the “L” towards his neighborhood, south of the city. He got off the train just past Silver Street, thinking he would still have time to stop by _Turner’s Deli_ to grab himself a couple of sandwiches before heading home.

The sun had set, and although it was warm for March, Dean was glad he was wearing his coat. Rain would start soon. He could feel it in the air.

And it would be a long night.

Sandwiches in hand, he finally turned onto Hunter Street, and found it quiet. Except for Devereaux who was still closing shop, and Annie Hawkins from next-door who remained open until late at night, most of the street’s store owners had long returned home by then. Dean shot a look inside _Campbell’s Dry Cleaners_ and was glad to see the place was empty.

Too many times he had found his younger brother Sam helping out late at night, and after the evening—week—he had just had, the last thing he wanted was to create an argument with Samuel about it.

He didn’t have the energy. He just wanted to get home, dash to his room, and simply eat his snack in peace before turning in. No interrogation or complaints from Samuel.

He climbed the metal staircase and opened the front door of the two-bedroom apartment very slowly.

Just as expected, he found Samuel snoring in front of the television.

The small kitchen was dark and empty. The place was spotless. Not one dish was left on the counter or even in the sink.

As quietly as he could, he locked the front door behind him, walked past the living room and down the short hallway, and entered the bedroom to the right after knocking softly on the door.

His younger brother Sam was dutifully sitting at his desk, doing his homework.

“Dean, hey!” he said, standing up. “I was wondering when you’d be back.”

“I know,” said Dean, after delicately shutting the door behind him. “Sorry, something came up.”

Sam moved the basket of laundry, which had been resting on Dean’s bed, to give him room to sit and dropped on his own bed afterwards.

The room was small. With two single beds, a small desk, one dresser and a tiny closet, Sam and Dean’s shared space wasn’t the most ideal.

At least they had a decent sized window and it was the largest room of the apartment, as Sam kept repeating to Dean.

Be that as it may, with Dean being twenty years old and Sam being just shy of turning sixteen, the fact remained that they both had outgrown that room many years ago.

And Dean was becoming restless about that reality with every passing day.

“Did Samuel make you work late?” he asked Sam, as he took off his jacket. He hung it behind the door before sitting at the edge of his bed to face him.

Sam rolled his eyes. “It was fine, Dean. All I did was sit there and nothing else for a few hours. We had like three customers, tops, and I managed to read over a hundred pages of _The Brothers Karamazov_. I’m almost half-way, now.”

“Wait,” said Dean, squinting at him. “The brick you brought home from the library? That was, like, not even two days ago.”

Sam shrugged. “I like it. Grandpa doesn’t let me do much downstairs…so this helps.”

Even though Dean had a lot to say about the fact that Samuel was already keeping Sam at the shop far too late for his taste, he bit his lips hard and decided to change the subject.

“You hungry?” he said, retrieving the sandwiches from the bags. “Rufus was still open when I passed by.”

Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of the sandwiches. He opened his mouth as though he was about to speak, but then shut it quickly and shifted on his seat. He then said, “I’m okay. Grandpa, he—we had chicken and veggies tonight. It was fine.”

Knowing that Samuel’s culinary skills, though efficient, were nothing to brag about, Dean was then really glad to have stopped at _Turner’s Deli_.

“I got two, Sam. One of them was meant for you. Not vegetarian though.” And he presented one of the sandwiches.

“But what about you? I—Dean, I already ate. You probably haven’t eaten anything since noon.”

And while that was true, Dean waved the sandwich at his brother for him to take it.

“You’re a growing boy, Sammy. You’ll need to eat a lot more if you want to get as tall as me.”

“Shut up,” said Sam, laughing. He finally took the sandwich and thanked Dean for having thought of him.

“No problem.”

They quietly gobbled down their snack. While Dean would have had more than enough room for a second helping, the salami-ham sandwich would sustain his hunger until morning.

As Dean was taking care of putting the wrapping in the garbage once they were done with their meal, Sam then retrieved something from his school bag and threw it at Dean after he had taken his seat back.

A large bag of M&Ms.

“I was saving it for later, but I guess now is as good a time as any.”

“Aww. Thanks Sammy.”

“No problem.” He installed himself properly into his bed. Pulling on the thin covers and fixing his pillows, Sam then rested his back against the wall and began eating his treats, after Dean had opened the bag and left it on the night stand between their beds. “Was Grandpa mad when you arrived?”

“He wasn’t awake when I got here.”

“You—you didn’t wake him?”

“Obviously not.”

Sam made a face. “Dean, he was waiting for you.”

“One, I’m twenty, so he doesn’t need to. Two, we both know he wasn’t doing it out of the kindness of his heart or because he was _worried_ about my well-being. It’s because he wanted an excuse to start a fight as always.”

Sam pursed his lips. “And you didn’t?”

“I let him sleep, didn’t I?”

“Which might make things worse in the morning.”

“Sam,” groaned Dean. “If he wants to act like a warden, that’s his prerogative. But I’m not going to act like a prisoner.”

“He’s not as bad as you paint him to be, Dean.”

And while Dean had a lot of evidence that supported the opposite, he simply sighed loudly and kept his views to himself. He didn’t want to get into an argument with Sam any more than with his grandfather. The day had already been eventful, so, once again, he simply didn’t say anything.

He stood up, grabbed a random shirt from his drawer, and after listening against the door, he quietly went to the bathroom to undertake his bedtime routine.

He washed his face and teeth, changed his clothes and put the dirty ones in the laundry basket after emptying his pockets.

In the hallway, he carefully listened and could still hear Samuel’s snores over the news. He debated for an instant if he should wake him up.

But he turned on his heels and returned to his bedroom.

The moment he entered, he heard Sam whisper, “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t want to make you mad.”

He was seated in his bed with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m not mad, Sam. I know Samuel isn’t the anti-Christ, okay? He—he has his moments. But he could be better, too.” Wanting to change the subject, he pointed at the desk lamp, and said, “You done with this for tonight?”

Sam nodded and let himself sink into his bed. As Dean was about to turn off the light, he paused when he noticed some of Sam's homework on the desk. He picked one of the sheets that had an "A" written on it. Dean turned to Sam with a wide smile on his face.

"Hey! You did it! I knew you would, but—you aced your paper. That's awesome, Sammy."

Diverting his eyes for a second, Sam uttered a shy, "Thanks."

"What's wrong?"

Sam shrugged and fixed his covers. 

Dean dropped the test on the desk and stared at his brother, waiting for him to elaborate. 

"It's just...it doesn't matter. Sort of."

Dean shut his eyes. "Don't say that, Sam. Not again. Of course, it matters."

"But we—we don't have the money. And even if—Grandpa said—"

"Never mind what _Grandpa_ said, okay? I don't care what he says or anyone else. You're going to school and you're going to be great. Just—" Dean took a deep breath. "Just, please, continue with your studies. Do your thing and don't worry about anything else."

"Is that what you did?"

"That was different."

"How so?"

"Well, for starters, I wasn't a geek," said Dean, suddenly regaining his good humour.

And Sam rolled his eyes at him. 

Before settling himself in, Dean debated if he should leave the window open or not. They usually kept it shut during the day, since his bed was right underneath it. Most of the time, it wasn’t an issue.

Except when rain or snow was concerned.

With a quick look outside, he judged that now was a good time to let the place get some air a bit before the downpour would begin.

Just as he had on his way home, he could practically taste the cold humidity in the air.

“So, where were you?” asked Sam, once Dean had dropped his phone on the nightstand and had slid himself under the covers. “It’s later than usual. And a weekday.”

Lying on his back, Dean turned his head to peek at Sam. Because of the lamp and all the other stuff on the nightstand, he couldn’t really see him properly.

But he didn’t need to look at him to know that Sam had been worried.

The tone in his voice had said it all.

“I had to make a detour after the garage. A job interview. Of sorts.”

“Really? At night?”

“It’s the only time I could meet because of the garage,” said Dean. “They were, um, nice enough to agree to that meeting time.”

“And did you get it? What is it? How many hours is it going to be?”

“Whoa,” said Dean, lifting his hand, nearly laughing. “I—there is a lot I don’t know yet. But I—um, it—it doesn’t matter. I’m not sure I’ll do it.”

“Why not?”

Dean swallowed. He didn’t want to lie to Sam. Mostly because he hated doing it, but also because he knew that Sam was too smart to buy his bullshit.

Trying to think of an answer quickly, he said, “The weird schedule maybe? I—I haven’t decided yet.”

There was a long pause and then Sam asked, “Would it be a job instead of the garage or in addition to it?”

“Instead.”

Sam’s silence to his answer wasn’t too inspiring.

And just as he was about to change the subject, Sam finally said, “Whatever you do, I know you’ll make the right decision.”

Which made Dean feel even worse.

As he was pretty sure it had been a long time since he had made one of those. He hadn’t been reckless, but he had made mistakes, and a series of bad decisions was the exact reason for his current predicament of choosing between the lesser of two evils.

And lying there in his bed, noticing the rain finally starting to come down, he wondered if he even had the necessary moral compass to know the difference between the two anymore.

He sighed deeply, shut the window and turned himself on his side, desperately trying to ignore the important decision awaiting him the next day.

His eggs were cold and his toast nearly burnt. Normally, that would have been enough to cause Dean to groan during the whole breakfast.

But not on that morning.

He was too lost in contemplation for that.

“What’s up with you?” blurted out Samuel.

Dean looked up and found his grandfather frowning at him, as he held his cup of coffee mid-air, and Sam, quietly chewing on his cereals, also observing Dean cautiously.

“Nothing,” muttered Dean. “Just not awake yet.” And then he made a point of reaching for his mug and gulping down his now cold coffee.

“It was nice of you to _not_ wake me up when you got here last night. God forbid, I would have, I don’t know, worried about you.”

“Yes. _God forbid_.”

Samuel put down his cup. “You better watch that tone, son.”

“Don’t call me son, _Samuel_.”

“And stop calling me Sa—”

“Stop, please just—just stop,” pleaded Sam before Dean could reply.

Dean and his grandfather exchanged angry looks, but remained quiet. And while Sam seemed satisfied that a moment of truce had been granted, Dean was convinced that Samuel wouldn’t miss the occasion to revisit that topic later on.

Most specifically, when Sam would be busy at school and nowhere near them.

Samuel finished his coffee, brought his plate to the sink, asked Sam a few questions regarding his homework and reminded him to come straight back home after school. Once Sam assured him that he would, he then grabbed his keys and told Dean to meet him downstairs as soon as he finished his breakfast.

Both boys waved him goodbye and were left alone in the apartment.

With Samuel out of his sight, Dean let out of sigh and took another sip of his strong coffee, gearing up for the day.

“What are you going to do?” asked Sam.

“Relax, Sam. I’ll behave.”

“Good to know, but I meant with your job offer.”

“Oh. Still not sure. It, um, would help, but there’s just something about it that makes me hesitate.”

Sam nodded blankly, twirling his spoon into his bowl. “And what is it? The job, I mean. You never said.”

Dean stopped chewing. “Um, I—driving. Like—just, I’d be someone’s driver.”

“Really?” asked Sam, smiling. “You mean like a chauffeur? Would you have to wear a suit? And for whom?”

Dean laughed. “Um, I—I’m not—not exactly like a chauffeur.” And then, frowning, he added, “I think. I—we didn’t really get into those details yet.”

“Hmm,” said Sam, staring at his cereals floating. “And you have to give them an answer when?”

“Today. Tonight.”

“You’ll have the day to mull it over, then. But if I were you, I’d ask a few more questions before giving them a final answer.”

“I—I’ll take that into consideration.”

The rest of the day occurred as it usually did at the _Campbell’s Dry Cleaners_. Dean’s time at the business was usually split in two: manning the front desk in peak hours and helping out Samuel with the clothes the rest of the time.

He hated both options.

But Dean often suspected that was probably more about the company than the job itself. While some people might find it insufferable to remain quiet for most of the day, Dean had no issues with that concept when he worked with Samuel.

He preferred a silent, grumpy Samuel over a loquacious, grumpy one any day.

And unfortunately, just as he had expected, it seemed that he wouldn’t be spared from his grandfather’s annoying comments. As annoying as that may be, it didn’t change much for Dean on that particular day.

His mind was somewhere else.

He knew which option seemed more practical given the most pressing issue.

Getting rid of the headache that was Gordon was all that mattered in that moment.

And Dean could sit there and mull it over as long as he wanted, he would never find a solution as efficient—and without grave repercussion—as what Zachariah was offering him.

But at what cost?

Freeing himself from under Gordon’s thumb was complicated enough.

He wasn’t sure he would have this option with the Garrisons in the future. It was Dean’s understanding that once you got in bed with this family, there was no getting out of it.

And then what?

Would he drive shady people around for the remainder of his days or would they demand more of him down the line?

The growing pit in his stomach was a big indication of where he stood about that idea. Never mind if Samuel wouldn’t like it, he _himself_ hated it.

Regardless of the hours. Or the money.

But the fact remained that Dean couldn’t ignore Gordon.

Thus, frustrated at the situation, Dean then decided to accept Zachariah’s offer. Even if it probably meant fixing a problem by replacing it with a new one.

Before voicing his answer, however, Dean had a few questions for Zachariah.

And when he arrived at the man’s office again later that night, that was the first thing that came out of Dean’s mouth.

Zachariah stared at him for a moment, long enough so Dean began panicking again, until he chuckled and then said, “I would have thought you stupid if you hadn’t. Go ahead.”

Almost believing it was a trick, Dean waited an instant, but once it was clear that Zachariah was patiently waiting for him to begin, Dean cleared his throat.

“I—I’m just not sure how to ask this without sounding incredibly impolite. And that is…not what I want to do.”

“Noted. What is it?”

Dean swallowed hard. “I appreciate the opportunity. I—I was just wondering…let’s say in, um, the future that I desire to—to work elsewhere…or move to another city…will it be possible for me to do so?”

It was the only way he could say it without uttering the actual words “wanting out.”

“Of course. You’re not our prisoner,” said Zachariah.

Now, Dean wasn’t about to call Zachariah a liar, but he had detected a faint tone in his voice that had made him feel uneasy.

He wasn’t lying. But he wasn’t telling the whole truth, either.

“And Gordon, what will happen there?”

“He will simply be informed that we have personally requested your services. We will recommend someone else to work there in your place, and in the meantime, he can find someone else, if that’s what he desires. We will also make sure that he understands that we consider the past week’s issue now resolved. That you evidently had nothing to do with it, and since you are no longer his employee, but _ours_ , the matter has to be dropped immediately or there will be consequences.”

A perfect even tone.

Not a lie in sight.

“Was there anything else?”

There was a great deal more.

But for now, Dean reasoned that the pressing matter had been answered.

So, he shook his head and told Zachariah that he accepted his offer.

“Terrific,” said Zachariah. He pressed on the intercom of his desk.

“Yes, sir?”

“Duma, you can let him in, now. And inform Mr. Garrison, if he wishes to have a chat with them.”

“Right away, sir.”

A door to Dean’s right opened. Not the one he had come from, but another one that Dean hadn’t noticed until that very moment. It was closer to Zachariah’s desk, right next to the wall of books.

And a man stepped quietly inside.

For an instant, he seemed startled by Dean’s presence, but his mild confusion dissipated as quickly as it had been detectable. He gave Zachariah a firm nod, shut the door behind him and walked towards the desk.

Mid-twenties.

Dark, thick hair.

And was wearing a navy-blue pinstripe suit, which matched his eyes.

This was not a cheap suit.

Not like what the security guards were wearing around here.

This smelled like money.

Working at the dry cleaners, Dean was able to pinpoint the fakers. And this guy wasn’t one.

The man was now standing next to Dean, facing Zachariah.

“Mr. Dean Winchester, meet Mr. Castiel Novak. Your passenger.”


	2. Chapter Two: The Job

Dean had no idea who on earth Castiel Novak was and he tried his best to not show it.

He glanced quickly at him, acknowledging his presence, and then, worried he might be staring, he turned his focus on Zachariah, awaiting further information.

But as discreetly as he could, he still eyed Castiel.

He didn’t know what to make of him. His sharp blue suit and his posture alone made him believe that the guy was stuck-up. The straight and narrow kind.

Considering whose office they were both standing in, however, not to mention his deadpan expression, Dean then figured that, perhaps, there was more than meets the eye where this guy was concerned.

In any case, he wasn’t at all who he had expected to drive around. Since Zachariah— _and_ Uriel Garrison himself—had made a point that the job was to remain on a need to know basis, Dean had anticipated someone from the Garrison clan. Or one of their top representatives, like Zachariah.

Someone known. A familiar face. A name that meant something to him.

But he had never heard of Castiel—Mr. Novak—before nor had he ever laid eyes on him.

He would have remembered.

And now, knowing that this man was relevant enough for the Garrisons to go through the trouble of finding him a personal driver for his late runs, the fact that Dean had no idea of his identity only increased his worry.

Probably sensing his anxiety rising, Zachariah then continued with the introduction and the additional information Dean was now finally privy to.

“Castiel, this is your driver, as requested.” He observed Dean a moment and gave a nod to Zachariah. “And while I know you are fully aware of the rules, I thought it would be a good idea to go through them once more now that we have Dean on board.”

Castiel remained still as a statue.

And Dean did everything he could to appear like he wasn’t affected by whatever tension was roaming in the room.

“First,” said Zachariah, turning to Dean, “here you go.” He handed him a cell phone. “Except on specific occasions, which I will get to in a moment, you have to keep this phone turned on. Make sure it’s always charged and that you keep it with you at all times. This is how we will let you know that we require your services. All the necessary information will be sent to you, mainly a time and a location. It is to help you for your navigation too, if you need it. And as you may have already guessed, yes, we have access to everything on this phone. So, never use it other than for work. You can contact us if there is an emergency, but it would have to be that—an emergency. With me so far?”

Dean gave him a firm nod and put the phone in his pocket.

“So, the time and location we will send you will lead you to a car,” continued Zachariah. “It will be the only vehicle around, so there won’t be any confusion, and the keys will be hidden in the left fender. It won’t be the same car every time, nor the same location. Once you’ve reached the vehicle, you’ll text us a confirmation—just type in the license plate number—and then you’ll receive a new location, which is where Castiel will be waiting for you. I know,” said Zachariah, as he noticed Dean frowning, “it feels like a lot before you even get to the job itself, but we are just playing it safe. For your benefit.”

As true as that may be, Dean thought there was more to it than that.

“It’s not as complex as it may seem and the rest is very simple, Dean. Essentially, you are to pick him up, drive him to his appointment—there might be more than one a night—and when he’s done, you drop him off where he tells you. And then you bring the car back to where you found it. That’s really all there is to it.” Zachariah shifted his gaze to Castiel with a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Castiel is one of our employees, much like you, Dean. He pays social calls to clients, employees, partners, and so on, that require a certain…finesse. Sometimes incentive.”

Dean nodded, as he desperately tried to not dwell too much on just what those _social calls_ implied.

“Now, discretion is key.” Zachariah took a dramatic pause, and while his tone didn’t change, his stare turned slightly more serious. “Not only during his appointments, but for your arrival and departure as well. Especially your departure. Sometimes, it might need to be done rather quickly. Like if Castiel’s visit attracted the wrong kind of attention. You know of whom I’m referring to, don’t you, Dean?”

The cops.

That much was obvious.

And Dean was now convinced that _this_ was the reason why they had reached out to him.

He knew what was in that file now.

“Dean?”

“Yes, sir. I know who you mean.”

Zachariah nodded. “It’s imperative that if this ever happens, you do not get caught. Either of you. Under any circumstances. You cannot be followed. And you cannot leave without him. Am I clear?”

Crystal.

Dean nodded.

“And if you two are to leave earlier than planned, Castiel will inform us, and depending on the situation, we’ll tell you how to proceed from there. But no matter what, you have to make sure you are not followed and that you have your passenger with you.” And then, knowing that the tone of the conversation had turned rather grim, Zachariah let out a short laugh, hoping to lessen the tension, before saying, “But that’s just under extreme circumstances and I know you will both be cautious, won’t you?”

Dean certainly hoped so.

“You two are to show up here on every Sunday night for a weekly report,” continued Zachariah, “so we know there’s no issue. Or if you have any requests, that sort of thing, and that’s when you will be paid for your week’s work.”

He leaned in his chair and observed them both a moment, as Dean processed everything he had just heard.

“And finally, for… safety measures, you two don’t know each other outside of work. No interaction of any kind. Got it?”

Dean nodded once more, ignoring every atom of his being telling him that he should have never accepted this gig.

Zachariah’s gaze fell on Castiel. “Did I forget anything?” he asked him.

“Only that we have to turn off our phones after we are finished for the night.”

“Ah, yes. That’s the only time your phone needs to be shut off. So, the moment you return the car, turn off your phone for the next twelve hours or so.”

Dean wanted to ask why, but he judged that it was perhaps not the best time to do so.

“Good? So, to move this along, you two are to go on your first drive tonight. A trial run if you will. Nothing too complicated. Just to make it official.”

Another exception for the night: they were to leave directly from _The Gates_ without the usual procedures. A car was waiting for them in the back alley and they were to return here after their drive to report on the evening’s events.

So, not even five minutes later, Dean, incredulously enough, was driving the nice baby blue Buick he had admired the night before. A 1971 Buick Electra, to be more specific, which was a fact that was enough to bring a smile to his face.

So much so that he had to remind himself of the reason why he was driving that car.

His only regret was that he wouldn’t be able to tell Sam about it.

Castiel sat in the back and informed Dean of the location they needed to go. It was way across town, a neighborhood that Dean wasn’t overly familiar with.

Thankfully, using the phone had been practical. It was to be used for this purpose after all, and since he knew they were already tracking his phone anyway, might as well make sure he wouldn’t get lost or seem like he was taking the scenic route for no reason.

The car ride was a bit awkward. Silent.

Castiel wasn’t rude, but very reserved. Not at all chatty.

It hadn’t been without Dean’s notice from the rearview mirror, however, that Castiel was certainly staring at him.

Which made Dean nervous.

He didn’t have any problem with keeping quiet. He was used to the silence with Samuel. It was more or less the attitude he had adopted at the garage as well.

But the idea of driving Castiel around town and barely exchanging two words with him didn’t sit right with Dean. Since Castiel was his responsibility, Dean wanted him to trust him.

And something told him that trust wouldn’t be accomplished with silence and awkward stares.

The last thing he wanted to do though, was to make Castiel feel uncomfortable. Blurting out small talk not even five minutes into the job was probably not the best approach, he deduced.

As he debated on how to proceed, Dean took another glimpse at his passenger through the mirror and found him staring back at him, once more.

“Something you want to ask, Dean?”

“Sorry, I—I didn’t mean to stare,” he said, focusing his gaze on the road.

“What is it?”

Still looking in front of him, he said, “I, um, I was just wondering—I was wondering if you had any, um, requests or additional info.”

Silence.

“Like, I noted everything Zachariah said and I intend to follow everything to the letter,” he continued, “but I—since you’re the one I’m driving, not him, I wondered if perhaps you had preferences or directives that you wanted to let me know. In case I—I just want to make sure this goes smoothly and that we don’t go off the wrong foot. That’s, um, all.”

Castiel remained silent for a long minute, during which Dean tried his best to not peek into the mirror at every chance he got.

Finally, he said calmly, “What sort of requests?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Like, um, is small talk a bad idea? What about the radio?”

Looking out the window, he said, “I do prefer silence. But it isn’t a necessity. Only on rare occasions will I require it.”

“And, um, when that will be?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, looking at him. “You’ll know. I won’t even need to tell you. It will be apparent.”

Dean swallowed. “Anything else? Like when I pick you up or when I wait for your appointment to be done. Any advice? I just don’t want to fuck up.”

Castiel lowered his eyes and turned towards the window again.

“Punctuality is a must. There’s a reason why they are very strict with their schedule.”

“Okay.”

“When we are at the…appointments,” he said, with a sour look on his face, “it would be best that you stayed in the car. Not just by the car, but _in_ the car. Typically, there won’t be any issue. I’ll do my best to warn you in advance if I know we ought to take additional precautions, although it’s rather obvious based on the vehicles.”

Dean stirred in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“It’s not an exact science, so you shouldn’t base it solely on that, but it’s been my experience that whichever vehicle we are to use normally matches the visit I’m supposed to pay.”

“I—sorry, I don’t understand.”

“We are driving the 1971 Buick right now. That’s not a car you would spot on every corner street, no?”

“No,” admitted Dean.

“It’s recognizable. And rare. It has a certain appearance to it.”

“They want them to know who’s knocking at their door.”

“Correct. And it’s not the vehicle you want to find yourself in if you need to leave the premises in a hurry and disappear into the night.”

“And does that happen often?”

“No,” said Castiel. “But it happens.” He turned his eyes to Dean. “Which is why, since you asked, I strongly suggest that you stay in the car. Always. Not just in case we need to leave in a hurry, but because you also do not want to attract attention to yourself, either. Witne—people might remember the car and you don’t want them to recognize the driver.”

Witnesses?

This gig was getting better and better.

If he had been reticent about discovering what those social calls entailed before, he was now convinced that avoiding the subject altogether was the best policy to adopt.

The less he knew, the better.

“I’ll stay in the car. I promise.”

“Thank you. And like I said, I’ll try the most I can to give you a heads up. But I can never guarantee anything.”

“All right. Anything else? What about the phones?” asked Dean, glad that Castiel was being helpful.

“Nothing much to say about that. Except perhaps that they typically send the texts for a job on the morning of. So, if by lunchtime you haven’t received anything, you most likely will have your evening free. But I would still keep an eye on that phone though.”

“Awesome. Thank you. That helps a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

Just over ten minutes later, they arrived at the location. Following Castiel’s instruction, Dean parked the car directly in front of the house. The residence, which despite being in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods—a fact based on the impressive size of the houses on the street—was not located within a gated community.

Yet, Dean still had the feeling that it was the type of neighborhood that kept a close eye on one another.

It was quiet. No random car was parked in the street.

Except their own, that was.

Which made Dean slightly nervous.

But Castiel didn’t seem nervous. He told Dean to expect him back within twenty minutes, and exited the car, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

Becoming extremely self-conscious about what he was doing.

Terrified that he had made a mistake by accepting Zachariah’s offer.

And knowing full well that it was too late now to do anything about it.

It was moments such as this one that always made Dean reminisce about simpler times.

His early childhood. A time that seemed so distant and foreign now, it might as well have been a dream.

It hadn’t been perfect, but it had certainly been better than what had followed.

Everything had gone to shit when Dean hit twelve.

Mary had become very ill. Like, the grim reaper was waiting by her fucking bed _ill_. It had been far too close. But by some miracle—at first, anyway—she had pulled through.

That relief had not lasted long, however. Soon, the medical bills had piled up. Fast. So much so that the only viable option, short of selling everything they owned and still paying up, had been for his father to take on another job. The kind that paid a lot more than what they had and was overseas. Being an ex-marine, John had connections and he quickly found something suitable.

And while having his father being gone wasn’t exactly what Dean had wanted—he had, in fact, been furious with him—he still had understood to a degree that it was the best option for them all.

Again, not perfect. But bearable.

So, John had left for his job, and with Mary still recuperating, Pastor Jim, their neighbor, had taken it upon himself to keep an eye on them, which they had both been grateful and happy about.

Just as things seemed to be turning for the better, as fate was often cruel, the unthinkable happened: John died overseas.

And with his father gone, his mother had followed not long after.

The official story was that Mary had sadly succumbed to the disease she had been fighting against so valiantly.

But Dean knew the truth. It hadn’t been the disease that had killed her.

Her broken heart had done the job.

An actual broken heart, just like in the goddamn movies.

After Mary’s death, Sam and Dean were left with their only living relative to look after them. Their maternal grandfather, Samuel Campbell, whom they had never met before.

And it had been a problem.

There had been bad blood between Mary and Samuel from the moment she had started dating John in her teen years. Samuel had not approved, and even though John had been nothing but a model citizen, respectful of Mary, and loved her more than life, it still hadn’t been enough for Samuel.

But despite his opposition, John had proposed and Samuel gave Mary an ultimatum.

And Mary had chosen John.

With no hesitation.

Samuel hadn’t been thrilled to learn that Sam and Dean, _John Winchester’s sons_ , as he kept repeating, were left to be his responsibility once both parents had passed away.

But he still accepted to be their guardian.

So, the young brothers had had to leave their home, their friends and everything else in Lawrence to move to Samuel’s place. A crummy and compact two-bedroom apartment in Chicago. It was situated right above Samuel’s dry-cleaning business, next to a convenient store, on a busy street.

And Dean had hated it.

He had not adjusted well to the change. He did not like Samuel and his rules and rude comments.

But that hadn’t been the worst of it.

The only possession that Sam and Dean had been able to keep from their parents, due to debts, had been John’s '67 Chevy Impala. Since Samuel had no space to keep the car back home—he had barely the space for his own truck—Pastor Jim had graciously suggested that the Impala be safely stored in his garage, free of charge, until the boys came of age.

Samuel had only accepted because it had seemed one less thing to be hassled with.

But it became a problem just before Dean’s fourteenth birthday, when they were given the sad news that Pastor Jim had passed away. He had left instructions that the Impala belonged to Sam and Dean, but because neither of them was of age, Samuel had the last say in the matter. And given that the space issue had not changed on their end and that money was difficult to come by, the next step had seemed obvious to Samuel: sell the car.

That was when Dean had put his foot down.

He had tried to bargain with Samuel. He promised that he would gladly take on additional responsibilities at the shop. That he would pay him back. Find a second job. Anything.

But Samuel hadn’t budged. There was no say about it. It was his decision and that was that.

And even though Dean knew, despite everything, that Samuel hadn’t actually done it out of cruelty, it had still been convenient for Dean to see it as such.

One less thing from John to be plagued with, right?

Unfortunately, losing the Impala had been a turning point for Dean, and not the right kind.

His spirit had already endured a lot, but from that point on, Dean’s hopes and dreams about the world had plummeted. 

And once that was gone, the poor decisions had followed.

And Dean, sitting in a stranger’s car, waiting for Castiel who was doing God knows what, trying desperately to not look suspicious, was simply the latest one, which made Dean wonder what would be the next one.

About ten minutes after their arrival, Castiel exited the house. He wasn’t running. Nor was he even looking over his shoulder. He took his seat as soon as he reached the car, pulled out his phone, typed a few things and slid his phone back into his jacket.

One look in the rearview mirror and Dean saw Castiel nod to him.

And that was it. They were to return to the lounge. That had been their one pit stop for the night.

The journey back was quiet. Castiel didn’t appear upset or tired, but unlike their first half of the trip, he was no longer staring at Dean.

His eyes were focused on the window.

So, Dean didn’t press the issue and made sure to bring them back both to the lounge in record time.

Once they had returned to Zachariah’s office, they found Uriel present as well.

Zachariah asked Castiel and Dean about their drive.

Not knowing what else to say, Dean simply said, “Everything went fine.”

Zachariah smiled at him and then looked at Castiel.

“No issue. I did what you requested and the matter should be solved tomorrow,” was the only thing Castiel said regarding his appointment.

“Good. And what about Dean? You were the one who requested a driver. You are the one to have the final say.”

There was a long pause, during which Dean held his breath.

“He’ll do.”

And with that, it was settled. Dean was Castiel’s driver.


	3. Chapter Three: The Passenger

While Dean was glad to finally put the agonizing “Gordon versus Garrisons” dilemma behind him, he was still left with one major problem on his hands.

Breaking the news to his family.

Especially Samuel.

And so far, lying about it seemed to be his best option.

But Dean was no fool. He knew that one day the secret would either reach Samuel’s ears or the man would figure it out by himself. And Dean was in no hurry to find out what the consequences would be when that bomb would drop.

It was true that, since Dean was of age, Samuel had no grounds to dictate Dean on his life’s choices.

He did, however, have a say about who resided under his roof, and Dean had a feeling that, while he hadn’t been fond of him working for Gordon, the idea of Dean working directly for the Garrisons would impress Samuel even less. It would, in fact, definitely grant his grandfather a reason to kick him to the curb.

And leaving Sam alone with his grandfather was not Dean’s intention.

Quite the opposite. He had made himself this promise long ago and he wasn’t about to break it now.

So, until Sam was of age and left for college, omission it was. Realistically speaking, Dean knew that it was very unlikely he would succeed in keeping this under wraps until then, but he would try.

And it sure beat the alternative.

Unfortunately, it quickly came to Dean’s realization that lying about his employment to Samuel was far more complicated than he had initially anticipated.

In order to be believable, the lie had to be a good one.

Dean had first contemplated the idea of pretending like nothing had changed and letting Samuel (and Sam) believe that he was still working for Gordon.

But he knew that the sudden change of hours and increase of payment would be questionable, and while he doubted that Sam or Samuel would ever purposely venture to the garage, Dean didn’t want to give them any reason to be near that place or Gordon.

So, he moved on to his second option: telling them that he was no longer working at the garage.

Which, of course, brought its own set of problems and explanations as well.

Like, why had he left after all these years and what was he planning on doing next?

Gordon might not have been considered as horrible as the Garrisons in Samuel’s books, but there was still no delusion in regards to who he was. Leaving a two weeks’ notice wouldn’t do much in this circumstance.

So, Dean kept it as close to the truth as he could and hoped for the best. He told Samuel that an incident had occurred at the garage, which had made Gordon reconsider many of his employees—Dean being one of them—and long story short, after a long discussion and _understandings_ , he had been “let go.”

Naturally, Samuel had been skeptical. But before he began asking questions which Dean had no answers for, Dean had the good sense to distract him with something else instead: by informing him that he was looking for another job.

And Samuel took the bait.

“It better not interfere with our business hours,” he had said, tapping his finger on the counter with a grim look.

Dean assured him that it wouldn’t.

And with this, he figured that he had gained a few days to finalize the other part of the lie, which consisted of coming up with a fictitious job.

A job that would explain the late hours and the increase in salary. A job that would be plausible for Dean to acquire. And that wouldn’t raise any red flags with Samuel as to not pique his interest.

Which was the _very_ tricky part.

Dean had been tempted with the idea of asking Benny, a trusted friend from high school who worked at the warehouse near the pier, to help him with a cover story, in case Samuel would come sniffing around.

He knew Benny wouldn’t have asked too many questions, but Dean decided against it. He concluded that it might put Benny on certain people’s radar, and the last thing Dean wanted was to create trouble for someone who was trying to help him.

So, after mulling it over, Dean chose a cover story that his new job was at an upbeat restaurant, _Cobalt_ , in a neighborhood across town. Working part-time at a top-end restaurant gave him room to explain the late and inconsistent hours. He wasn’t sure he could manage to sell the salary increase with the tips alone, but he figured that he could potentially build on it.

The best part about this lie, however, was that it was the type of establishment and neighborhood that Samuel loathed. Dean had often heard his grandfather rant how these types of businesses that were spreading all over the city contributed to the increase of their rent.

Which was everything but helpful to their financial demise.

Needless to say, Samuel wouldn’t be in a hurry to pop in for a word unannounced.

He wouldn’t be impressed with Dean, either, but then again, what else was new?

As the week progressed and Dean was pretending to be out looking for a job, he had to admit that the transition to his new employment occurred much smoother than he had predicted.

A few days after their first drive, Dean received a text with a time and a location, just as Zachariah had told him. He made up an excuse to get out of the apartment late at night and, without fuss, he reached the meeting point in time.

And just as Zachariah had said, he found a vehicle waiting for him, exactly where it was supposed to be, under a lamp post and on a quiet street across town.

It was the same baby blue Buick. As it was on his next night after that, and the one that followed as well.

Dean had no idea what other cars were in store for him, but he doubted they would all be as exquisite as this one. So, he decided to enjoy that part of the job while he could.

But it turned out that driving a nice classic car wasn’t the only perk his new job was offering. Not having to answer to Gordon was another _major_ point on the list.

And to Dean’s surprise, so were the health benefits.

A few days after his trial run, at Zachariah’s request, Dean had stopped by a clinic on Enochian Avenue for a basic medical test, like an annual check-up, which he or anyone he ever knew had never had the luxury to afford. Dean was somewhat puzzled by this requirement, but Zachariah had simply said it was their policy and wanted to make sure he had “a clean bill of health.” Although it was sensible enough, Dean couldn’t help but think that there had to be something else to it than that. But still, he obliged and it turned out to have been worth the trip downtown, when he was informed later on that he was in good health. No masses. No STDs. Not even an iron deficiency.

And Dean had to admit that knowing that he had it covered in that department had lifted a weight off his shoulders, considering his family’s health history. And with this in mind, he promised himself to make sure that Sam—and even Samuel—would be provided with the same treatment down the line.

Another bullet point added into the pro column had been Castiel.

Of course. His mysterious, unreadable, and gorgeous passenger.

It didn’t take Dean very long to assess that Castiel had the firm intention of remaining professional. He was punctual and dressed elegantly. He was very direct. And he didn’t overshare.

But he was also polite. He never looked down on Dean. Nor did he ignore him.

Something that Dean was very grateful for.

Even though the guy had an undeniable _boss_ vibe, the kind that made Dean hold his tongue on more than one occasion, Castiel still acted decently towards him.

And he wasn’t reckless, either.

He always gave Dean intersections as a point of reference to their destination. That or a known building. But never a civic number and street name.

And once they had reached their stop, Castiel would sometimes instruct him on where to park. Sometimes it was directly in front of the house he visited, while other times, he would ask him to remain at the end of the street.

Convinced it was for safety measures, Dean was more than happy to oblige. He appreciated the extra precautions.

Which had been why Dean, wanting to do the same on his end, had taken the liberty to look under the hood and do other quick check-ups every time he picked up the vehicle. Not that he doubted its condition, but the last thing he wanted was to blindly drive a broken car, however stunning it was. But Dean never found an issue. The brakes worked to perfection, the engine never stalled, and even the radio was on point.

He quickly got comfortable driving the car and his good humour hadn’t been lost on Castiel.

When he noticed something in Dean’s eyes, as he watched him in the rearview mirror, Castiel inquired why he seemed so chipper.

Dean, feeling somewhat exposed, told him nonetheless.

“Car connoisseur?”

Feeling underqualified to fit the term, Dean simply said, “Aspiring to be, I guess.”

“And how did this interest grow over time?”

Dean paused on his answer.

Without meaning to, Castiel had broached a personal topic and Dean wasn’t sure how to respond to it. He didn’t want to make it awkward.

But Castiel seemed genuinely intrigued, so he answered truthfully.

“It’s because of my dad. He was a mechanic. He always talked about cars with such passion. It just—it reminds me of him.”

And how uncomplicated things used to be _,_ thought Dean.

Castiel lowered his eyes. “ _Was_ a mechanic? Did he—is he retired?”

Dean returned his gaze to the road ahead. “He passed away. Years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope this job won’t end up tarnishing your liking for them.”

Dean, frowning, looked into the mirror again. Castiel was looking out the window, observing the quiet and dark houses they were passing by.

And on that night, the conversation ended there.

Nothing else happened for the rest of the week, until their weekly appointment on Sunday night at _The Gates_. It consisted mostly of Dean and Castiel answering “Yes” or “No” to Zachariah for twenty minutes, only to be dismissed with a “Keep up the good work.”

And that was it.

They nodded in acknowledgment, left the premises separately, via their own door, and on his way out, Dean was then handed his payment in a dark envelope.

No drama.

No crass interactions or threats.

And the amount promised.

It almost made Dean believe for one crazy second that he might have caught a break with this job after all.

The second week was more or less the same. Dean finally announced to Samuel his new fictitious job on Tuesday, and just as expected, the very mention of the upbeat restaurant made his grandfather groan with annoyance.

But he didn’t display an ounce of suspicion.

It worked like a charm.

So, that night, Dean left a little earlier than needed to get the car, claiming that he had to debut his training, and just like that, he had his valid excuse for his late nights.

His first issue with his schedule, however, occurred on Friday. Sam had been dutifully studying for his math exam all week. He had been extremely nervous about it, so Dean, trying help, had suggested that they hit pause on _Shameless_ , their current obsession available on Netflix, until Sam’s exam was behind him.

“I promise I won’t watch it without you and we can binge a bunch of episodes on the night you’ll have your test as a celebration,” Dean had told him. “Deal?”

But Dean reneged on his promise. He received the typical morning text announcing the time and location he was needed on the morning Sam was taking his exam.

His brother, though slightly disappointed, had been very understanding. “You waited for me all week. Tonight or tomorrow, it’s okay,” he had told Dean. “I don’t mind. I’m just glad I’m done with that test. Don’t worry.”

But Dean did worry. Based on his previous nights, he deduced that he would be back at a reasonable hour, and since it was Friday, meaning no school for Sam the next day, he told his brother that they could try to squeeze in a few episodes once he returned home.

Unfortunately, the evening ended up being much longer than Dean had expected. It was a busy night with a lot of stops.

As they were on their way to the fifth location of the night, well into the fourth hour of their night drive, Dean kept glancing at the clock every five minutes.

“Is there somewhere you need to be, Dean?”

Realizing what he had been doing, Dean bit his lips and looked ahead. He shifted on his seat and said, “No. Of course not.”

“No? I’m not keeping you from a hot date, I hope.”

In the mirror, Dean discerned a smile at the corner of Castiel’s mouth.

Yes, the man had just made a joke.

Dean let out a short laugh. “No. No hot date planned tonight.” And then, before he knew it, he added, “Or any nights, lately.”

As Dean was wondering why he had mentioned that last part, he heard Castiel say, “Then why are you eyeing the clock like there is a pressing matter you need to attend to?”

“I—I’m not. I—it’s silly. And not important.”

“What is it?”

“I—I, um, wrongfully assumed it would take us the same amount of time that it did on the other nights so far. Which is my bad and not an issue,” he added quickly. “It’s just—I just assumed.”

There was a pause, and then Castiel asked, “Why is it a concern tonight?”

“It’s not.”

Silence.

“Dean?”

“I—I stupidly told my brother I’d be back by now,” he finally said after clearing his throat. “We were supposed to watch—anyway, it—it’s fine. It’s not an emergency and he’s fine. I’ll make it up to him.”

He gave Castiel a faint smile in the mirror before refocusing his eyes on the street ahead, hoping he hadn’t overshared.

But it seemed that Castiel did not mind the personal topic.

“How old is your brother?”

Bouncing his eyes from the road to the mirror, Dean said, “He’s fifteen. Sixteen pretty soon.”

A milestone that Dean found both amazing and difficult to digest.

“And you two get along?”

“Yeah. Thank God. At least I feel like I have one person on my side at home.”

“You don’t get along with your—your mother?”

“Um, no. My mom—we live with my grandfather. Sam and I moved to Chicago to live with him after Mom passed. He was the only family we had left so…but, um, anyways, I’m glad Sam’s there. On my own with my grandfather would have been…a bad idea.”

Castiel nodded.

“I take it that he’s not a mechanic then?”

Another joke, which Dean appreciated considering the gravity in which the conversation was heading.

“No,” he said, smiling. “Pretty far from it. He can handle his car, but not—not like my dad could. Not like I can.”

“Oh, you’re a mechanic as well?”

Dean had to suppress a frown. “Yeah. You didn’t know that?”

Castiel shook his head. “I understand the full extent of your enthusiasm for the cars, now. So, is…is that your other occupation?”

“Not, like, officially. And not at the moment. Dad taught me the basics, even when I was young. I feel like all I remember of that time was me watching my dad fixing up cars in our garage. He’d listen to the radio all day and when he wasn’t humming, he’d tell me what he was doing. Of course, I was way too young so I didn’t learn everything, but I learned enough. Enough that a lot of stuff stuck. Enough—enough for someone to notice.”

Castiel gave him a smile.

A few moments later, they arrived at their fifth stop of the night. It was a residential street. Castiel instructed Dean to stop in front of a big yellow house, and after a quick glance into the quiet street, he told Dean it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.

As he watched Castiel making his way towards a two-story house, with an actual white picket fence, Dean pondered on the short conversation that had just occurred.

It appeared that Castiel hadn’t been privy to much information about Dean, in the same fashion that Castiel was an enigma to Dean.

Of course, Castiel could have pretended. Perhaps to gain Dean’s trust, in the hope of making him lower his guard. To what purpose though, Dean had no idea.

And yet, Dean didn’t feel like it was the case.

This wasn’t someone who was fishing for information to be used against him.

This was someone who asked questions with no ill-intent. Simply because they wished to know.

Thus, until proven otherwise, Dean wasn’t ready to toss Castiel into the “suspicious” column, just yet.

On the contrary, Dean had the sense that Castiel would end up in a very different type of column. Maybe he was being naïve, but only time would tell.

Castiel finally returned to the car around the same time he had said he would and gave Dean another intersection in the far west part of town. Because of the late hour, they managed to reach their destination in record time. This stop, which was a twenty-four hour convenience store, lasted less than five minutes. Castiel took his seat and told Dean of another intersection, which was just about five blocks away from their current location.

“That’s my stop, by the way,” he said, smirking at him. “You’ll be free after that.”

Dean gave him a nod.

Two traffic lights later, once he turned onto Elkins Street, Dean parked the car. He twisted himself to glance back at Castiel, wanting to wish him good night, but before he did, he saw him shove a big envelope in his inside pocket, next to something shiny and silver. Dean hadn’t had the time to make out what it was, but his first guess was a flask.

Or a gun.

He kept his face as straight as possible and said, “Night, Cas.”

Hand on the door handle, Castiel said, “Good night, Dean. I hope you get to enjoy the rest of your evening with your brother.”

He gave him a faint smile and left.

Dean took a deep breath and was ready to return home.

And decided to not dwell too much on that silvery object.

But that wouldn’t last for very long, since the next day brought on another layer of the job, when a green 1965 Sunbeam Tiger was waiting for him instead of the baby blue Buick.

Dean stopped dead at the sight of the car.

Feeling the anxiety spreading in his chest, he glanced around. Satisfied that no one was paying attention to him, he advanced towards the vehicle.

As always, he retrieved the keys and glimpsed under the hood. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Once he was seated, he took a moment to familiarize himself with the car and adjust the driver’s seat.

This was, without a doubt, still a cool car. One that also stood out. Perhaps of a less flamboyant color than the Buick, but still, there was no need for panic.

So Dean kept repeating to himself.

When he picked up Castiel, Dean was quickly informed that while they had only two stops for the night, Castiel couldn’t guarantee the length of his night’s appointments.

“All right,” said Dean, preparing himself for a long night. “You got it.”

But the first stop didn’t last long. Less than ten minutes. And as Dean watched Castiel walking away from a massive brick house, he felt a glimmer of hope that he might return home at a decent hour after all.

And then, as Castiel approached the vehicle, walking at a usual pace, Dean discerned something off about his clothes.

He nearly gasped when he noticed the front of his white shirt was stained with what appeared to be blood.

Castiel opened his door, took his seat and typed something on his phone. His knuckles were bloody. And the massive stain on his shirt was dark and still wet.

Yet he didn’t have one scratch on him. The rest of his clothes were still impeccable. And he didn’t even have one hair out of place.

Castiel put his phone back in his pocket and when he realized Dean had been staring at him, he said calmly, “Grigori and Prince Street. It’s close to Weiss Memorial Hospital.”

Gripping the wheel, Dean said, “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Castiel tilted his head and said, “No. Why?”

He was completely unfazed by his appearance.

“No reason,” said Dean, looking ahead.

And he started the car’s engine and continued their route.


	4. Chapter Four: Pit Stop

Due to the latest development, which offered little imagination as to what exactly Castiel’s employment for the Garrisons consisted of, Dean concluded that _car problems_ might be the least of their worries.

And since Zachariah’s only advice, besides following their rules, had been for them to use common sense, implementing additional precautions for their drive was now a priority on Dean’s list.

So far, Castiel and Dean had never returned to the same address. But they often frequented the same neighborhoods, and something told Dean that they would most likely revisit these locations eventually.

So, he began studying the map of Chicago. Planning some emergency exit routes. Memorizing the tranquil streets and where they led. Identifying potential hideouts.

Which happened to be an old _hobby_ of Dean’s. One he had acquired and perfected years ago, for something that could have gotten him into deep trouble if he had been caught.

And he had come close. Real close.

Enough to scare him into walking away, vowing to be done with his mini teenage rebellion. He may have been reckless about some things, but he wasn’t stupid. And while Dean had certainly never bragged about his little stunts, some people knew.

And it was all that had been needed for him to end up on Gordon’s radar, and considering his new employment, it wasn’t far-fetched to believe that Dean’s past _accomplishments_ were primarily what had caught Zachariah’s attention as well.

If that was the case, better get with the program and act on it, thought Dean.

So, in addition to his cramming sessions, Dean also began carrying a Slim Jim tool, just as he used to back in the days, even though it wouldn’t be of much help to him. After all, he _already_ had a vehicle.

But Dean found it oddly reassuring to have it with him while driving, so he kept at it.

A couple of weeks went by without issues. Dean acclimated himself to his new schedule, pursued his study sessions during his limited private time, watched shows with Sam, all while making sure his work at _Campbell’s Dry Cleaners_ wouldn’t slack. Giving Samuel a reason to complain, or worse, become suspicious, wasn’t Dean’s intention.

So, he tried to act as normally as he could.

Then, on one Saturday night, when Dean was heading towards the “L” for work, he unfortunately came face to face with Gordon and other guys from the garage.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Especially since I’ve been meaning to have a word with you for a big long while now,” said Gordon.

Dean shifted on his feet. Running into Gordon was something he had wanted to avoid at all cost, but to do so on his way to meet Castiel for a job was less than ideal.

“Gordon. What’s up?”

Adopting a smug face, he shrugged. “Nothing. Just keeping it real.”

“Awesome. Well, if that’s all, I’m just—” Dean tried to keep walking, but Gordon caught up to him.

“Whoa! What’s the hurry?” he said, stepping in front of him. “Somewhere you need to be?”

“Yes, actually.”

Gordon smirked at him as he took a step closer. He seized Dean’s collar jacket as though he was fixing it for him, and said, “Okay, I’ll be very brief then. You owe me money and I’d like to collect now.”

Dean frowned. “I don’t owe you anything. I never—that was taken care of.”

“I don’t know what you did—or _who_ you’re doing,” which made Dean clench his jaw, “but this special treatment bullshit ain’t flying with me. After what happened, _you_ still owe _me_. Big time. So, I’m going to ask nicely for now and say that you really ought to stop by the garage when you have a moment. For a chat. Okay?”

He tapped him on the shoulder, gave him a stern look, and walked away, followed by the rest of the group.

Dean watched them cross the street and once he was positive that they were no longer paying attention to him, he quickened his pace as he continued his route.

And remained vigilant all the way to the “L.”

This encounter troubled Dean to his core.

His so-called _debt_ had been settled. Zachariah had made sure of it and, given the gravity of the situation, Dean doubted that he would have lied about that.

No, this was just Gordon disliking being told what to do. He had decided long ago that Dean was to be his scapegoat for everything. And now, someone highly placed had come by, told him he was wrong and removed Dean from his grasp before he could act on it.

This was what it was about. Gordon’s bruised ego.

But what was Dean to do, now? He worried that bringing the issue to Zachariah might make him sound ungrateful. He didn’t want to worsen the situation. But he also didn’t have that kind of money, nor was he even at fault.

He just wanted Gordon to leave him be.

Dean was on edge for the rest of the evening and it didn’t go unnoticed by Castiel, since he asked him, after the third stop of the night, “Is there something bothering you, Dean?”

Readjusting his hands on the wheels, Dean shook his head as he glanced in the mirror.

Unconvinced, Castiel then repeated the question.

Dean, playing dumb, said softly, “I’m okay. What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“You are unusually quiet, tonight. And while the quality of your work hasn’t changed, you also seem preoccupied. You are the one at the wheel, so I want to make sure—for both our sakes—that you are all right. So, I repeat, is there anything wrong?”

Dean didn’t answer. Pretending that he was fine was evidently pointless. But complaining about Gordon to Castiel didn’t seem much of an improvement over reporting him to Zachariah.

“Did someone pay you a visit?”

Dean nearly swerved the car.

“Like—like a visit from whom?”

There was a short pause. “Zachariah.”

Now, Dean was lost.

“Did he mention anything about our conversations? Like did he or anyone instruct you to keep it to a minimum?”

“No. I—why would—no one said anything like that.” Confused as to why anyone would do such a thing since their conversations had remained formal—and, as far as he knew, private—Dean then asked, “Did someone say something to you?”

Castiel, gazing out the window, said, “No. But they wouldn’t approach me about this sort of thing. They know it’s pointless. Which was why I wondered.”

Not sure what to make of his last comment, Dean then said, “Okay. Well, that—that’s not—I’m just a bit off today, I guess. Nothing’s wrong.” He paused for a second and wanting to prove it to Castiel, he asked, “What are you looking forward to the most once you’re back home tonight? Or for the rest of your weekend?”

Castiel glanced in the mirror, almost looking amused.

“Nothing grand, I’m afraid. I tend to take it easy during the weekends. Read. Rest. Check on my garden.”

“You have a green thumb?”

“I manage.”

Dean felt a smile growing on his face. Badass Castiel liked to garden. That was a sight he would like to witness one day.

And then he remembered that it would never happen.

“And what about you, Dean?”

“Nothing much, either. Hang out with my brother. Work at the fam—family business.”

He bit his lips. He hadn’t meant to mention that part.

“Your family owns a business?”

Dean nodded as he met his eyes in the mirror.

“May I ask what it is?”

“It’s dry cleaning. It’s my grandfather’s business.”

Castiel blinked. “Has he always had this business?”

“Since before I was born.”

There was a short pause and then Castiel said, “What is it called? I—I am rather familiar with most of the dry cleaners in the city and I don’t remember one of them being named Winchester.”

“That’s because his last name isn’t Winchester. Samuel is my mother’s father.” Before he blurted out the correct answer, he hesitated an instant, knowing they were past small talk at this point. “It’s Campbell. _Campbell’s Dry Cleaners_.”

Castiel tilted his head.

“The one on Hunter Street?”

Stunned, Dean nodded. “You ever been?”

“No,” said Castiel. “It’s not exactly in my neighborhood. Not—not too far off though. But I rely a lot on dry cleaning services and I always like to know where to go if I ever have emergencies in various parts of the city.”

Like large blood stains, thought Dean. Although, he knew that only a handful of these businesses wouldn’t ask too many questions and a few were directly working under the Garrisons.

And Samuel had made it clear that he had no desires to be part of these groups when the Garrisons had sought his cooperation once upon a time.

“So, you memorized all the dry-cleaning businesses in the city even if you’ve never frequented them?”

“We all have our hobbies.”

Dean let out a laugh.

“You got that right.”

As the rest of the evening unfolded, Dean’s tension lessened. His worry about Gordon was still weighing on his mind, but once he began conversing with Castiel, he didn’t let it ruin his night.

He parked the car not far from a beautiful fountain on Ness Avenue for Castiel’s last drop off.

“Night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Castiel reached the door handle, but didn’t exit the vehicle right away. He froze for a second, and then took a deep breath and twisted himself to look at Dean in the mirror.

“Dean, may I ask what was really bothering you at the beginning of the evening? I know you said it was nothing, but I—I’d like to make sure you are indeed all right.”

“I’m—I’ll be okay, Cas. Thanks.”

Castiel lowered his eyes, nodding absently.

“Is it the job?”

Dean, surprised by his suggestion, pressed, “No. Not at all.”

“You wouldn’t be the first, Dean. I’ve worked for the Garrisons for a while, and I’ve seen up close what the pressure of the job can do to a person. And it doesn’t matter what the task description is.”

Repressing the urge to ask follow up questions about Castiel’s time with the Garrisons, Dean said instead, “That’s not it. I swear it isn’t.” And then, before he knew it, he added, “I actually love the job.” Realizing what he had just said, Dean cleared his throat. “I mean, I—I like driving around. Like I said before, driving these cars is definitely a perk. I like working with you and it’s definitely an upgrade to what I had before.”

And with that, he bit hard on his lips and concluded that he should stop talking.

There was a long moment of silence, which rendered Dean nervous, until Castiel said, “All right. Just know that you can talk to me if you feel like it.”

Castiel opened the door and slid out of the vehicle. He lowered himself to the front passenger window to tell him, “I hope you get to enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

“Thanks. Same.”

“Oh, and Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I enjoy working with you as well. Even considering the circumstances.”

And he turned on his heels, and walked away.

And neither of them mentioned that part of the conversation on their next ride, nor any other ones after that.

A few days passed, without any sign of Gordon, to Dean’s great relief.

But Dean’s mind was elsewhere. He soon caught himself wondering how Castiel was spending his time during the day. Which dry cleaners he used. Where he lived.

If he was sharing his breakfast with anyone.

Questions that Dean knew were probably better left unanswered.

And yet, he was still curious and distracted.

Dean snapped out of his reverie, however, when he found a new car waiting for him for their next drive. One he had never seen before: a black Chevy Equinox. An SUV. A vehicle that borderline looked like government property.

It took Dean a moment to assess that, _yes_ , he was at the right address and it truly was the vehicle he was to drive on that evening.

So far, all the vehicles he had driven had been classic cars. Some had been more distinguishable than others, but they had been old, fashionable and classic cars.

This one was modern. Slick. Nothing that stood out.

This car implied that they were to blend in.

And it made Dean feel incredibly nervous.

Castiel, unlike Dean, had not appeared to be surprised or worried by the change of vehicle when he picked him up. As always, he sat in the backseat, greeted Dean and gave him the intersection.

No words or a look suggesting extra caution.

Their first stop wasn’t in their typical residential neighborhood, but what looked like a warehouse.

Once Dean parked the vehicle, Castiel typed a few things on his phone, and said, “I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Stay tuned, all right?”

“Okay.”

And Castiel climbed out of the car, leaving Dean who tried to remain calm and alert.

Thankfully, Castiel’s stop didn’t last long. Less than ten minutes.

On the other hand, the moment Castiel took his seat back, Dean could tell something was wrong.

But before Dean could ask about it, Castiel, perhaps sensing Dean’s worry, immediately told him the second location of the night.

And once more, after a quiet ride, they reached their destination, and Castiel repeated his instructions to Dean, took a deep breath and left the car, heading towards a large—but run-down—commercial building.

And just like before, he returned less than ten minutes later, with a strange look on his face. His appearance was perfect as ever, except for his hair, which was more ruffled than usual.

“Cas?” said Dean softly. “You—you okay?”

Castiel, avoiding his eyes, simply nodded. “I’m fine, thank you. The next stop is near Ballard and Madsen. That’s past Walsh Park from here.”

Dean did as he was told and, not wanting to press Castiel, held his tongue doing so. But as he watched him return from the third suspicious establishment, Dean could no longer stand it. While is appearance wasn’t troubling—his clothes weren’t out of place or damaged, nor could he discern any trace of blood—the distress in Castiel’s eyes was new and deeply worrisome to Dean.

He seemed out of it.

Castiel took his seat and simply stared in front of him. Completely lost in his space. Not unfazed or indifferent like he usually was, but as though he was in shock.

“Cas?”

Silence.

“Cas, are you—what’s next?”

Silence.

“Are you okay? Cas,” he said, twisting himself to look directly at him. “Talk to me.”

Dean’s attention was then refocused in front of the car when some commotion occurred down the road, not far from where they were. Scanning the scene, Dean couldn’t spot anything alarming, but he officially felt exposed.

He glimpsed once more at Castiel. He wasn’t displaying any sense of urgency, so Dean hoped that it meant they weren’t expecting trouble any time soon.

But his state had remained the same, which plagued Dean with a sudden overwhelming sense of dread.

He wanted to leave this place. Right the fuck now.

“Where’s the next stop?” he asked as calmly as he could. “I feel like we should leave. Shall we?”

Finally, Castiel turned his eyes on him. His only reply was a firm nod. Dean, not wanting to stay there one more second, drove off.

It didn’t matter if Castiel hadn’t given him another location. As long as they wouldn’t remain on that spot like sitting ducks, it was enough for Dean.

Paying close attention to their surroundings, he made sure that they weren’t followed, as he put as much distance between them at that third building.

“Cas, what’s wrong? I—I want to help you. Tell me what to do, please.”

The last thing Dean wanted was to annoy him, but he needed to know that Castiel was okay.

“Where to? Do—do you need anything? Do you need to stop or—are you okay?”

It took him everything he had to not ask “What happened?”

Not understanding what on earth was wrong with him, Dean then took the initiative to park the car where he deemed safe, near a small empty field facing a gas station and what appeared to be fast food chain restaurants.

Once he was satisfied that nothing looked out of the ordinary, he stepped out of the vehicle. He hurried to Castiel’s door, opened it wide and squatted by his side, in the hope to do a quick assessment of Castiel’s physical condition, fretting that perhaps he had missed something.

“Cas, are you okay? Can you—here—” He pulled Castiel slightly towards him to have a better look.

Staring at Dean, disconcerted, Castiel slid himself to the edge of the seat.

Dean lifted his jacket, wanting confirmation that he wasn’t physically hurt.

No blood stains or any tear in his shirt.

And as Dean delicately ran his hands over his arms, he deduced Castiel didn’t have any broken bones or bruises, when he stayed still and didn’t wince at him.

The same with his chest. Ribs.

Thighs.

And Castiel gently reached for Dean’s hands.

Which was the exact moment when Dean became self-aware of what he was doing and withdrew his hands as he shot a shy look at Castiel.

Who was staring at him.

“I—I just wanted—are you hurt?”

Still observing him, Castiel shook his head.

Dean swallowed hard.

“Okay. Okay, good. But—but Cas, you’re not well, either. What’s the matter?”

“Food.”

“W—what?”

“I’m hungry,” Castiel said, suddenly regaining a bit of pep. “What do you say?”

“I—you want to get food?”

“Yes. I—I think I need a break. Don’t you feel like taking one?”

Dean couldn’t exactly argue against that one, but he knew it was against the rules. Not only were they in the middle of a job, but they also weren’t supposed to be seen in public, as well.

Guessing what Dean was reflecting on, Castiel then said, “We can just get take-out somewhere and eat in the car for ten minutes. I think we can manage that, no?”

It sounded plausible, but Dean hesitated.

Puzzled by Castiel’s odd behavior and by his suggestion, Dean waited a few seconds to see if Castiel would elaborate, but he only repositioned himself on his seat, as though he was ready for them to resume their route.

Dean took a deep breath and glanced across the street. “All right. Stay here for a sec, and I’ll be back shortly.”

He shut Castiel’s door, dashed across the street and quickly made his way to one of the fast food restaurants. Since Castiel hadn’t voiced any preferences, he ordered the first thing on the menu, along with their most popular vegetarian option. He returned to the car, put everything on the passenger seat next to him and, feeling paranoid, he insisted on driving off to another quiet street nearby that he knew consisted of unfinished—and therefore, empty—houses.

A place he was sure they would be safe and not bothered.

Content with their new spot, Dean parked the vehicle, grabbed the bag of food, and left his seat to sit next to Castiel.

“I didn’t know what you wanted.”

He retrieved two tacos and presented one to Castiel.

“It’s, um, nothing fancy—”

“It’s perfect, Dean.”

They ate silently, sitting next to each other in the back seat. Exchanging shy glances. And even though the situation was somewhat awkward, with every passing moment, Dean felt the grim vibe, which had been filling the car since the beginning of the evening, slowly dissipating in the air.

It appeared that Castiel had been right: a short break was what they had needed.

By the time Dean had finished his second burrito, Castiel looked like his usual self. His posture wasn’t as tense and his eyes were no longer filled with worry, either.

“I hadn’t pegged you for the vegetarian type,” said Castiel, finally breaking the silence as he examined his burrito after taking a bite.

“Oh, um, you would be correct about that. I’m not really.”

“You thought I was?”

“No. I—it’s a force of habit, I guess.” Assessing Castiel’s confusion, he added, “Sam—my brother—always prefers it. He’s not vegetarian per se, but he—anyways, I—because of that, whenever I get us food, I always try to get him something vegetarian. And, um, I guess, I just did it out of…”

“…habit.”

They nodded to each other, as the silence fell once more for a few minutes.

Until Dean asked, “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Vegetarian?”

“I’m afraid I enjoy red meat far too much for that,” he said, taking another big bite. But smiled shyly at him. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for this,” said Castiel. “I—I would have been fine eventually, but you helped.”

Dean nodded, and after clearing his throat, he said, “You kinda scared me for a second, Cas.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” He paused a moment, gathering his courage to ask the next question. “Does that happen often?”

Castiel lowered his eyes. “More often than I’d like. But no, it does not. It’s rare. It’s only—it doesn’t happen often.”

Their eyes met. And the numerous questions Dean wanted to ask a moment ago seemed suddenly unimportant.

What he wanted in that moment was to reach for Castiel’s hand.

For starters.

But he remained still.

Taking a deep breath, Castiel shoved everything back into the empty bags. “We still have one more stop to do. How about we do this and put it behind us?”

“You sure?”

“Yes. It—it won’t be long.”

And while Dean was still worried about his well-being, he gave him a firm nod, put the paper wraps into the bag as well and returned to his seat.

The rest of their evening was quiet and without issue. Dean was relieved to see Castiel was feeling better, despite having a lot of questions piling up in his mind.

He dropped Castiel off after their last stop. They wished each other good night and just as Castiel was about to exit the vehicle, Dean said, “Cas? Wait a minute.”

“Yes?”

Holding his breath, he pondered which question he should prioritize.

“Dean?”

“Sorry, I—nothing. I just wanted to tell you to take care of yourself, all right?”

“Only if you do the same.”

“Deal.”


	5. Chapter Five: Exit Route

“So, you’re still working tonight?”

Dean nodded as he chewed on his meatball.

“And when will you be back?”

Shrugging, he answered, as gracefully as he could while chewing, “Late.”

Which had not impressed Samuel in the least.

Dean turned his eyes to Sam who seemed fascinated by his spaghetti. Sighing, he told Samuel, “I’m sorry. I really can’t say for sure when I’ll be done.”

“Isn’t that odd though?” asked his grandfather.

“What?”

“Restaurants have schedules. They have opening and closing hours like any other business. How can you never know exactly when you’ll be done?”

Now twisting the base of his glass with his fingers, Dean said, “It depends on how busy we are. Sometimes, the nights are slow, slow enough that they decide to close early. Sometimes, there are people who stick around until the very last second. And I really mean last second. Like, the kitchen is still closed, they’ve already paid for their meal, and we’ve already taken care of clearing everything. And sometimes, even if everything goes accordingly, we have meetings afterwards.”

“Meetings? On top of the one they drag you there for every Sunday? That’s ridiculous.”

“No arguments there. But I don’t make the rules,” said Dean, grabbing himself another garlic bread. 

And Samuel’s response was only a short grunt.

Dean had been ready. He had been expecting a thorough interrogation from his grandfather for a while now and had prepared arguments for the occasion.

Truth to be told though, he had expected Samuel’s inquisition far earlier—and much more brutal—than that.

“And how is it? The job?”

Dean, who was about to bite his second meatball, froze at Samuel’s question, with his mouth wide open. He lowered his fork. “It’s fine.”

“ _Fine_ ,” he repeated. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything, Dean. It’s been what? More or less a month now, and you haven’t said much about it. I was expecting long speeches of how _awesome_ and _peachy_ the job was considering the location.”

“Well, you were wrong,” said Dean calmly. “What does the location have to do with anything?”

“You’re telling me that wasn’t a perk?” said Samuel, lifting an eyebrow.

There was a short pause. Even though Samuel hadn’t actually said it, Dean knew perfectly well that by “location” he had really meant “far away from home and especially me.”

And although it had been one of the reasons why Dean had chosen that fake location, it hadn’t been in the sense Samuel was implying.

“Not really, no,” he finally answered. “After years of working places within walking distance, riding the “L” late at night isn’t really my idea of a perk.”

Samuel held his stare for a second and then nodded as he took a sip of his glass of water. Dean glanced at Sam again, who was now smiling at him shyly.

“Be that as it may, how is it, really?” asked Samuel, which made Dean refocus his attention to him. “Nothing else to add about the job?”

For a brief moment, Dean felt his heart jump, worried that there was a particular reason why Samuel kept on the subject.

Like, perhaps, he had suspicions.

Well, Samuel was _always_ skeptical about everything and everyone, reasoned Dean. That wasn’t unusual. But Dean couldn’t shake the impression that it was more than his typical inquisition.

And the fact that his grandfather was simply broaching the subject instead of blurting out his views like he had a tendency to do was really odd to Dean.

Almost like Samuel didn’t want to upset Dean too much.

“There’s just not much to tell. It’s a job. I go there. Do the work. And they pay me.” He repositioned himself on his seat. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious how you liked it, that’s all.”

Silence fell around them for a few minutes, until Samuel finished his meal and told them that he had to return downstairs, and right before shutting the door behind him calmly, he reminded Sam to join him immediately after Dean's departure.

Dean eagerly twisted his fork on his plate, wrapping spaghetti around it.

It wasn’t without his notice, however, that Sam was staring at him.

“What?” croaked Dean.

“He’s not wrong, you know… You’ve barely said anything about the place.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “And like I said, there isn’t much to tell.”

“What about the people? Like your colleagues. Are they nice?”

“Um, I guess.”

“They aren’t nice?”

“No. Of course they—they’re okay. I—I don’t get to interact with that many people, Sam. The place is busy and we have to, um, keep moving.”

“Okay, but surely you must interact with some of them? And what about the food? Is it good? Do you have to wear a uniform? Are the customers awful?”

Maybe it was because of the giddy feeling from having a full belly. Or perhaps it was Sam’s puppy dog eyes pleading with him for a little bit of information. Or maybe it was because he was tired of keeping things to himself all the time.

Whatever it was, Dean found himself seriously considering talking about Castiel.

Which was ill-advised.

Of course.

But after pondering on the matter for an instant, Dean figured that he could mention a few things about Castiel if he refrained from naming him.

“There’s really only one person I interact with,” he said as casually as he could. “At—at the restaurant, we are sort of…paired up—in a way—so, it feels like he’s the only person I interact with. Um, _ish_.”

“Really? How so?” And before Dean could say anything, Sam added, “What’s his name?”

“Jimmy.”

Dean had blurted out the first name that had come to mind.

“Cool. Is he nice?”

“Yeah. Kind enough, yeah.”

“Nice enough to hang out with him outside of work?”

Frowning, Dean said, “What do you mean?”

“I—I just—” He sighed and then, after taking a few seconds to choose his words properly, he said, “I was just asking because I—you don’t really go out anymore. I mean, like, you stay out late at night for your job, which you’ve always kinda done, but now, when you don’t work, you stay in. I can’t remember the last time you got to see Ash. Or Richie. I haven’t heard you talk about Benny in…I have no idea. I’m really glad _we_ get to hang out, but you know it’s okay that you see your friends, too.”

That one threw Dean for a loop.

Truth be told, Dean hadn’t found much motivation lately to meet up with his friends down at their usual pub, _MacLeod’s_. Going out every night had never been his style, but Sam was right. It had been a while, and considering that his evenings offered more freedom than when he worked at the garage six days a week, Dean understood Sam’s logic.

But keeping a low profile had definitely been Dean’s top priority since he had started his new job, and frequenting certain establishments, such as _MacLeod’s_ , wasn’t the best way to ensure that.

Still only twenty years old, it was impossible for Dean to _legally_ go to a bar.

Of course, there were ways around that. A fake ID, for instance.

And yet, he had never seen the point of spending money for one, since he knew the neighborhood spots that had no problem turning a blind eye to that sort of thing.

 _MacLeod’s_ , being one of them, simply charged a small extra fee to people who happened to have _forgotten_ their ID.

That easy.

Naturally, since that detail was irrelevant to them, it meant that they also didn’t care about other shady things, which attracted a specific clientele of questionable characters.

And _that_ was why Dean had decided to stay away from his usual pub.

He didn’t want to attract attention to himself and he _definitely_ didn’t want to risk the chance of running into Gordon or anyone from his circle.

So, Dean had opted to stay in instead. Spend time with Sam and help Samuel during busy evenings when he could.

Heavy socializing was, oddly enough, not really on his to-do list of late and, apparently, Sam had noticed.

“Anyways,” his brother continued, after clearing his voice, “I just thought that it would have been kinda neat if you had made a friend over there since I feel like all you do is work or stay here…”

Dean gently put down his fork and crossed his arms over his chest as he observed Sam more attentively.

“Am I really that sad to you?” he said, amused.

“You’re not sad, Dean. At least, I don’t think you _feel_ or _look_ sad. But something is different and skipping out on your friends for no reason is very unlike you.”

Dean took a deep breath. “I just haven’t been feeling it these days. I guess that the new job is taking its toll on me way more than I’d like to admit even if I work a little bit less.”

“It’s strenuous?”

“Um, it’s a bit stressful.”

Sam opened his mouth, only to immediately shut it. He paused for a second, and then asked, “Do you regret not having taken the driver job?”

Dean, desperate to not avert his eyes, simply shook his head. “I’m happy where I am, Sam. Okay?” he said softly.

“Okay.” And then, after he helped himself to another piece of garlic bread, Sam said, “So, how’s Jimmy? What does he look like? Does he like cars as much as you do? Has he been working there long before you arrived? Which part of town does he live in?”

“Um…do you want me to hand him a questionnaire when I see him next?” said Dean, half-laughing, as they continued eating.

That being said, Dean could make fun of Sam for his curiosity all he wanted, the fact was that he sure would like to know many answers to those questions himself.

And more.

Since their last drive when they had shared a quick meal together, which had been four days ago, Dean’s mind was now, more than ever, constantly focused on Castiel.

During business hours. In the shower. Waking up in the morning.

And if he was honest with himself, even if the job itself was indeed _stressful_ , as he had told Sam, Dean had noticed that his anticipation for the drives had also been increasing for some time now.

And the nice cars and the money had nothing to do with it.

When he and Castiel had had their weekly meeting with Zachariah two days ago, Dean had been very surprised that no one had mentioned their improvised break and detour during their last route.

Zachariah had asked the same questions he always did and they both answered with the usual “Yes” and “No,” even when he got to the final question: “Was there anything out of the ordinary you’d like to report?”

Not wishing to betray himself, Dean had let Castiel answer that one, which had been a simple “No,” and Zachariah had simply nodded and moved on to other things.

And that had been it.

Dean didn’t want to fool himself though. He knew what they had done—during the job no less—was transgressing the rules, and he really hoped he wouldn’t find himself in a position to repeat it.

Even if nothing dramatic had come of it.

Even if he had enjoyed their moment.

And even if he wished the rules weren’t as they were.

Later that night, when Dean reached the corner of Sands and Taylor Street, where he was to pick up the vehicle, he was granted another surprise.

Another car. A burgundy 1967 Mustang GT coupe.

Out of the seven cars Dean had driven on the job, the Buick and the Sunbeam had been Dean’s favourites.

But as he examined that car with admiration, it appeared that tonight’s car might be a contender for the first place.

Dean tried to focus on that idea instead of stressing out about the fact that a new car usually meant a new ordeal of business.

Castiel’s serious demeanor when he picked him up, however, didn’t do much to reassure him on that front.

“Where to, Cas?”

“On Milton.”

Dean lifted his eyes to the mirror to meet Castiel’s.

They had been on that street before.

“The place past the Sandover building?”

“That one, yes,” said Castiel grimly.

The area, which was residential, was a tranquil suburbia. Nothing tricky or suspicious had happened, and Dean remembered their stop being very short, which he was always grateful for. Brief was good. The long visits, the ones during which he would become restless in his seat and start second guessing every noise around him, were the worst.

Even when he had the Buick or when Castiel had warned him in advance of the long duration.

This time though, with the new car and Castiel’s glum tone, was even less reassuring.

“And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“That will be our only stop tonight. And I have no idea how long it will last.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek as he nodded and gripped the wheel slightly tighter than needed.

Milton Street was calm and dark. It was still rather early in the evening, approaching nine o’clock, and yet, only a few houses had their lights on. The rest, it seemed, had already turned in for the night.

Dean had been patiently waiting for Castiel’s return for almost half an hour now. He was parked on the other side of the street, facing the large brick house Castiel had entered, and had been watching the street like a hawk ever since.

Except for one silver car that had driven by and parked in a driveway near the end of the street, no other activity had occurred.

No one bringing the recycling and garbage out.

No child was heard negotiating five more minutes before bed.

Nor anyone listening to the news—probably in disbelief of its content, thought Dean.

Nothing alarming that should render him nervous.

And yet, he couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

A dreadful feeling had been growing in his chest the moment he had set eyes on the mustang, and given the car in question, it said a lot.

Determined to remain calm and alert, he kept taking deep breaths and made sure to pay close attention to the surroundings.

Shortly after that, he spotted Castiel emerging from the front door. He wasn’t running or even trotting, but his pace seemed slightly faster than usual.

And he was clearly scanning the neighborhood as he was making a beeline for the car.

Something Dean had never seen him do before.

The moment he had taken his seat back and shut the car door as quietly as he could, he asked Dean, “Did you see anything unusual?” There was a hint of distress in his voice. Castiel fixed something inside his jacket that Dean couldn’t properly make out from his vantage point, and then retrieved his phone and began typing quickly. “Dean,” he repeated. “Did you see anything?”

“No. Nothing,” he said, feeling the adrenaline rising. “I—the only thing that moved was a car. It’s been quiet.”

Castiel looked up from his phone. “What car?”

After pointing ahead of him, he said, “That one. Right next to the yellow and blue house.”

“And what happened?”

“Nothing, Cas,” he repeated, feeling his chest tightening. “They drove by, didn’t slow down until they reached their driveway. Parked. And they immediately went inside the house. That’s it. They didn’t linger. They didn’t suspiciously look around or—nothing weird happened.”

Castiel lowered his eyes back to his phone.

Meanwhile, Dean’s gaze constantly shifted from the mirror to the street ahead of him. “Cas? What’s wrong?”

He typed for a few more seconds, and then put his phone away. “Okay, Dean, listen carefully. First, you’re going to turn off your phone and when that’s done, we are going to get as far as possible from this place, without attracting attention to ourselves. When—and _only_ when—we are both satisfied that no one followed us, then, we’ll leave the car, but not at the place initially intended. All right?”

“What?”

“Please, do it.”

He swallowed hard, but followed Castiel’s instructions to the letter. After his phone was turned off and they had quietly turned onto the fourth residential street, heading to one of the emergency routes he had previously planned, Dean asked Castiel what had happened, as he nervously glanced everywhere for potential trouble.

“The person I was supposed to meet wasn’t there. It’s not unheard of, but…um, given the reason why I was sent here…let me put it this way: it’s not an appointment you want to be late to, never mind _miss_ it. The wife was spectacularly evasive about her husband’s whereabouts despite the fact that she was extremely chatty. Like she wanted to keep me occupied. Again, not overly unusual, it can happen when people are nervous, but it was still strange. That’s not what troubled me the most though. I wa—what’s that?” Castiel stopped mid-sentence at the exact moment Dean spotted the silver car behind them. As they turned onto a secondary street, not only did the silver car follow them, but a black SUV as well.

“Is that the same silver car?” asked Castiel.

“I can’t say. Not from here.”

It was too dark to tell.

But it seemed close enough. Far too much for Dean’s liking.

Dean subtly repositioned himself in his seat. “Cas, might wanna buckle up.”

“Ready when you are,” he heard him say.

He took a deep breath, continued driving at the same pace until they reached the stop sign, which Dean performed properly, but did not linger too much, making sure that they wouldn’t catch up with them, despite both vehicles behind them keeping up their pace as well.

Once he reached the second crossroad, however, the one he had been aiming for, he checked in the mirror, saw the silver car making their stop, which slowed down the black SUV behind them.

And then, in an abrupt way, Dean swirled the car to the right, immediately turned onto the back road which was now on their left, knowing it was there for them to take.

And he pressed on it as casually as he could.

It didn’t take them long to hear in the distance tires screeching the ground, confirming that at least one of them was definitely following them.

Dean shut off his lights, and turned on what he knew to be Mahers Road, and kept up his path as intended.

He continued with his planned route of residential streets, without a peep from the other two cars—or any other vehicles—as he gunned for the highway.

Dean hadn’t had any intention of using the highway for long. He just wanted out of that damn neighborhood as fast as he could.

Believing that he had—momentarily, at least—shook them off their trail, he exhaled as he saw the sign for the highway.

But just as he was turning at the intersection to reach the on ramp not far ahead, out of nowhere, a black SUV, coming from their right, cut them off.

Dean, swearing loudly, avoided collision by making the sharpest turn and stopped the vehicle before winding up on someone’s lawn.

Processing what had just happened, he froze for a second, and then he heard the black SUV slowly backing up.

And heading full on towards them.

From that point on, Dean kissed the highway on ramp goodbye. He hastened towards the first intersection and turned to his left.

With the dark SUV keeping up behind them.

This wasn’t his route. And while Dean had paths to adopt from there, he wasn’t immensely familiar with that neighborhood.

Things did not improve when, due to city constructions, they reached a dead end and Dean was forced to turn onto Garland Avenue, a main road, which was properly lit and contained traffic despite the late hour.

Very few vehicles.

But vehicles roaming about, nonetheless.

Dean took a deep breath, when he had to stop at a red light.

Eyeing the black SUV in the mirror as it was slowly coming their way.

And then he noticed the silver car to their right.

Which was slowly advancing, inch by inch, getting ready for the green light.

Dean gripped the wheel, and when the red light disappeared, he immediately did a U-turn and glanced at his mirror right before made a quick exit onto the first street that came his way, just in time to see both vehicles rushing behind them.

While keeping an eye on the road, he situated himself as fast as he could and settled on which of his planned routes would be the best option.

And that was when he heard it.

The SUV’s tires were screeching again as they turned onto the street, annoyingly determined to follow them.

A loud honk.

And then, sirens.

Police sirens.

And the police car with flashing lights driving full speed.

Making Dean hold his breath.

“Dean.”

“I know,” he said urgently. “I know. Hold on.”

Hoping they were only rushing after the black SUV, Dean turned onto another street as casually as he could, while maintaining his quick pace.

Unfortunately, judging by the sirens, the SUV carelessly sped up and continued to follow the mustang, bringing along the police car not far behind them.

And then, to make matters worse, the SUV went full speed and hit the Mustang in the back.

Gripping the wheel, Dean swore loudly as his whole body stiffened.

And he was now officially as pissed as he was anxious.

They were, for the lack of a better word, really fucked.

Needless to say, the police had witnessed the whole ordeal, which meant that the Mustang was now definitely on their radar, assuming it hadn’t been before.

If stopping was ill-advised when an unknown vehicle was following them aggressively, stopping for the police was out of the question.

Feeling panic spread in his chest, Dean noticed the sign advertising the Kormos Hill Estate, took a turn and sped through the street, then took another turn and hurried to one of the semi-empty parking lots, right next to a large vehicle, momentarily hiding them from the main road.

Dean knew this neighborhood. Eight apartment buildings, as well a series of cheap townhouses. Numerous small parking lots around. And what seemed like countless roads.

This place was built like a maze.

His old pal Benny had moved not far from here after his parents had broken up in the seventh grade and Dean had often visited him during the weekends, bringing Sam along with him.

Not having much to do for entertainment, they had spent most of the summer exploring the neighborhood, the curvy streets—which were often dead ends—from Benny’s home to the Sorento Park, where they had watched the baseball games that had often taken place.

He knew how to get out of this place, without returning to where he had come from.

But first, he had to make sure that both the SUV and the police car would pass them.

He held his breath when he saw the black SUV pass by, rather urgently, and then the police.

The sirens weren’t ringing anymore, but the red and blue lights were still highly visible. Once Dean judged that they had both taken a turn onto the small streets, which led to other parking lots, they slowly exited the lot they were hiding in, crossed the street they had seen both vehicles pass by less than a minute ago, and hurried onto a crescent road on the right side of Kormos Hill Estate, which Dean knew would eventually lead to the street opening to the park.

Nervously keeping watch as he drove, Dean swallowed hard when he heard the sirens again.

Still no one behind them, he continued his route, feeling his heart beating out of his chest.

“Okay, Cas? We need to ditch the car.” He was now out of the Kormos Hill Estate area and driving by the park.

The siren was still wailing.

But no one seemed to be after them.

So far.

“I need your help,” continued Dean. “Do you know a place we could do that? Like an underground parking with no cameras. Or a quiet road. A place where we could—”

And the rest of his sentence died in his throat when he spotted a second police car, waiting at the intersection they just passed by.

And they immediately went after them.

And Dean hurried to his left.

“I—a place where we could hide the car and be able to walk away on foot, without being immediately spotted,” he said over the siren. “I’ll make sure we have a few minutes head start before we leave. I’ll make it work. But for that, I need to know where to go.”

The wailing siren.

“Cas, please, I—” he turned, running over the sidewalk, brushing a recycling bin that had been resting at the curb. “Doesn’t matter where it is, just—anywhere, just tell me.”

“Pontiac,” he finally said. He was gripping the front passenger seat, steadying himself as Dean kept making turns in the hope of losing the car behind them. “On Pontiac Street, there’s this Thai restaurant. It’s past MacNeal.”

Not wasting one second, Dean set course towards it, while still trying—with great difficulty—to outrun the police car behind them.

They were still there.

But Dean was gaining distance.

“I sorta know where this is. There are plenty of places where we can head over after, so that’s good. But why there?” he asked. “Like, what—” he paused, when he—as carefully as he could—quickly passed another vehicle that was going too slowly for him. “What makes you think this place is safe?”

“Do you know the restaurant I’m referring to?”

“No.”

“The exterior of the building looks rundown, but inside it’s perfectly fine. The Thai place is right above a small private practice, which is never open.”

“A fact they aren’t advertising, I’m guessing.”

“No. The so-called security cameras have never worked and the alley next to the restaurant leads to a small private parking lot. Which is never used except on Sunday nights, and it’s well hidden.”

“How?”

“They place the large garbage bin of the restaurant in the alley, which makes it seem like no vehicle can go through.”

“Will it fit?”

“It will.”

Dean gripped the wheel and said, as he pressed on the gas pedal, happy to know their plan, “Good thing it’s not Sunday.”

Abrupt turns, red lights burnt, speeding in dark alleys, Dean did everything he could to get rid of the cop car that was glued onto them, while keeping in mind his destination.

Grateful that he had taken the time to study those maps, even if he obviously didn’t know all the streets by heart, his efforts seemed to have paid off when finally, he managed to lose them.

Still cautious, he rushed to the spot Castiel had mentioned, and quite unbelievably, they reached the destination in question quickly and without issue.

The police sirens could still be heard, but considering that neither of them had set eyes on a police car since before they had even turned onto Pontiac Street, they figured that they had succeeded in gaining enough distance on them to safely carry on with the rest of their plan.

Dean tossed a package of wipes he had brought with him to Castiel and they wiped the door handles, keys and the steering wheel quickly. Dean left the keys in the hide-a-key magnet against the left fender, like he always did and then looked at Castiel.

With both of them standing next to the car, he said, “What happens now? Aren’t we supposed to send a text or—”

Castiel shook his head. He seized Dean by his sleeve, nudging him away from the vehicle and towards the alley for them to leave this place right away.

“I warned them of the situation the moment I was back at the car. Their only instructions were to ditch the car as quickly as we could and to shut off our phones…That pretty much means to stay low for a good twenty-four hours.”

“Meaning what? Shouldn’t we tell them we made it out?”

“We didn’t. Not yet. And no, we have to—doesn’t matter for now,” said Castiel, slowing down his pace as they approached the end of the alley. “The important part is that they know something was off and now we have to make sure to leave before—”

Just as Castiel was about to set foot onto the sidewalk, stepping out of the alley, a loud siren from a police car, not even a few meters from them, began wailing.

Dean, gripping him backwards by the arm, stopped him, and they glued themselves to the brick wall, as the car passed by and drove down the street.

The adrenaline was spreading throughout his whole body.

As he held his breath, listening carefully to the siren slowly diminishing.

And felt his heartbeat pulsate up to his ears.

Almost expecting the car to turn around.

And when it didn’t seem like it would happen, Dean exhaled, awarding himself a moment of relief.

Both leaning against the wall, shoulders to shoulders, they stared at each other.

“You did it, Dean. I mean, we still need to leave, but…I—I can’t believe it. You did it. You got us out of that mess.”

The siren was still wailing, but distantly.

Still staring at him, Dean reminded Castiel, “Almost.”

And with the rush of the adrenaline and everything bubbling up inside him, Dean, quite inexplicably, leaned in and stole a kiss from him.

And before he knew it, he was now pressed against the wall, Castiel glued to him, sucking on his bottom lip and rendering Dean weak in the knees.

Feeling Castiel’s strong grip on him.

And wanting more than simply tasting his soft lips.

They broke apart suddenly, when a police siren was howling nearby once more.

Catching their breaths, they studied one another for a second while they processed what had just happened.

The police. The Mustang. The rules. Everything else seemed trivial in that instant. All Dean wanted was to find a quiet place to be alone with Castiel.

And as though he had been reading his mind, Castiel took a step forward, gently rested a hand on Dean’s chest, and easing it over his shoulder, he said, “Want to get out of here?”

Dean nodded, grabbed Castiel’s hand and said, “Lead the way.”


	6. Chapter Six: Aftermaths

This was reckless.

Selfish.

And completely insane.

That was what Dean thought when he let go of Castiel’s hand, after another police car rushed down the street.

Nevertheless, he followed Castiel closely as they made their way down the sidewalk, while trying to spot a place nearby where they could be comfortable.

Comfortable _enough_.

Coffee shop. No.

Electronic store. No.

A diner. Probably not.

As he was slowing down his pace to consider all the options, Castiel, on the other hand, was advancing at a steady beat, seemingly knowing where he was going.

“Where are you heading to?” said Dean, trying to keep up with him.

“Home. I live two blocks away.”

Dean nearly tripped at the words and froze on the spot. Sensing his disconcertment, Castiel came to halt as well, and after giving him a warm smile, he said, “I—I understand if you changed your mind about—”

“No,” said Dean, cutting him off. “That’s not—I—I just—”

Another police car passing by.

Or perhaps it was the same.

Either way, standing still was not a good idea, so they both continued their route, side by side.

“We really need to get off the street,” Castiel told him. “ _Now_. We should be fine. It’s not like anyone saw us step out of the Mustang, but given that the streets aren’t exactly crowded at the moment, I feel like we’re neon signs.”

He was right. There were about five people within their vicinity. A couple across the street. An old man who was smoking by the door of what looked like a pawn shop just ahead of them. And two teenagers, who were laughing loudly, crossed paths with them.

“Even if it’s just to let the dust settle, I—this is the safest place I know around.”

Dean brushed his fingers, and said in a low voice, “It’s okay.” He followed with his eyes the random car moving up the street. “I know—I was just surprised.”

They reached an old building made of large grey stones and an impressive set of windows. It didn’t look like the typical apartment building that Dean was used to in his neighborhood. No deteriorating red brick. With actual balconies and a lobby.

It felt private. Decent. Probably spacious. Not necessarily expensive, however, given the neighborhood.

But far more respectable than Dean’s, that was for sure.

After one last glance around them, looking out for any police cars, suspicious silver cars and black SUVs alike, Castiel unlocked the side door of the building, and they made their way quietly to his apartment, which was on the fourth floor. 

Castiel’s apartment, just as Dean had deduced, was spacious. The kitchen was spread out along the left wall of the loft, with a kitchen island and a tiny dining room area, which held a two-person round table, at the other end.

The adjacent wall, which was facing the door, consisted entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a lot of natural light.

A large bed was pushed against it.

There was a glass door leading to the balcony on the left side of the room, in the dining room area.

A couple of clothes racks, where Castiel’s sharp suits were hanging, in the right corner.

And not far from there, a rundown couch, yet cozy-looking, was surrounded by piles of books.

Numerous plants were all over the place. And to Dean’s left was a workout bench with a dumbbell rack right next to it.

And then, after scanning around the room, Dean’s eyes finally fell on Castiel, who was still standing by the door.

He was alone with Castiel.

No Zachariah.

No Garrisons.

And not on the job.

Just alone with him.

What he had wished for.

Suddenly struck by another kind of panic, Dean said, “Um, where’s the bathroom?”

Smiling kindly at him, Castiel pointed near the couch and Dean excused himself.

Once in the bathroom, he shut the door, turned on the water tap and took a deep breath as he looked at his reflection in the mirror.

Both hands gripping the cool edges of the sink.

His heartbeat was increasing.

He took another deep breath, hoping to calm his nerves.

There were plenty of reasons why this was a bad idea.

Like the _no interactions outside of work_ rule.

And while they weren’t exactly spending time in a public area, Dean was positive that this definitely qualified as such.

Getting on the wrong side of the Garrisons was not a sound decision for either of them.

But here he was.

In Castiel’s bathroom.

After weeks of staring.

Of wanting more.

More information about him.

More time with him.

More of him.

And after the stressful night they had had.

After feeling his hands on him.

After tasting his lips.

Choosing to follow him home had not been a complicated decision.

Just thinking about it at that very second was enough to give Dean sweaty palms and tingles in his lower back.

So, he told himself to get a grip, took off his jacket and grabbed a cloth.

When he finally stepped out of the bathroom, jacket in hand, he found Castiel leaning against his kitchen island with his hands behind his back. He had taken off his jacket as well.

“Sorry about that,” said Dean. “I needed to, um, freshen up.” He cleared his throat.

“No problem.”

Taking slow steps, Dean said, “So, cool place.”

“Thank you.”

Dean crossed the room, passed by the bed, and stopped in front of the glass door. He put down his jacket on the back of one of the table chairs and turned around to admire the view.

Which was rather impressive. He could see the lights of skyscrapers in the distance, as well as the ones from the cars and the “L” moving around.

And even though the sun had set, Dean could still discern an astonishing amount of greenery. More than he had ever noticed in the city.

All he could ever see from his window had been the red brick of the building next to them.

Raindrops began tapping on the glass.

Feeling Castiel’s stare on him, Dean said, “The view is amazing, Cas. It’s stunning.”

“I agree. And I’m particularly fond of it this evening.”

Dean shut his eyes, feeling tingles on the back of his neck.

He turned around and locked eyes with Castiel who was slowly approaching.

“I don’t know about that,” said Dean, half-laughing as he lowered his eyes.

“I know.”

Castiel was now within his reach.

The rainfall was becoming heavier from what Dean could hear.

“I didn’t get to ask you earlier, but would you like anything to drink?” asked Castiel.

An option that could certainly help tame Dean’s nerves, but he simply shook his head.

“You sure? You seemed worried.”

“I’m not worried,” whispered Dean.

And when he finally lifted his eyes to meet his, he took the last step that was separating them.

The point of their feet touched and he could feel Castiel’s breath against his lips.

But he remained still, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

Castiel studied him for what seemed like an eternity to Dean. One hand then reached for Dean’s hip, pulling him even closer still.

Not forcibly though.

He then eased his other hand on Dean’s back, up to his shoulder, and leaned in. But instead of pressing his lips against Dean’s, his mouth found Dean’s jawline and kissed it gently.

With Castiel’s mouth moving to his collarbone, Dean began quivering.

His heart was beating fast. He was breathing heavily. And his cock was hard.

And once he felt Castiel’s wet tongue on his skin, Dean then leaned back, and kissed him hard on the mouth. As Castiel deepened the kiss, Dean’s knees turned into Jell-O and he let out a loud moan.

Castiel then slid one of his knees in between Dean’s legs and he began rolling his hips, giving Dean what he wanted.

He trembled like a damn leaf.

And they had barely started yet.

Castiel then broke the kiss to catch his breath, as Dean tried to keep his shit together. After a moment of respite, during which Castiel did nothing but stare at him as though he was assessing Dean’s state, Castiel reached for his hand.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Before we—I—my apologies for the speech of practicality here, but I just need to let you know that I’m clean. Whatever happens here, I—you don’t have to worry about that from me, okay?”

“Um, okay. I—I am, too. I had to have a physical when I—well, you know when... And I’m fine. And nothing…weird ever since, either.”

Castiel nodded, and before he could say anything else, Dean unbuckled Castiel’s belt, wanting to continue where they had left off.

And as soon as the pants fell to the ground, Dean began lowering himself. But he was surprisingly stopped by Castiel.

“Dean, wait.” He gently pulled him upwards. “That’s not why I was saying that. I didn’t mean to make you think—”

“I know. But I want to.”

“Okay,” said Castiel, “but before, what about protection? Even if we’re both clean, I understand if you’d prefer to still use protection.”

Dean swallowed. “I’m okay with either. But…”

“But?”

“Since I know you’re…I—I’d prefer without. If that’s okay.”

“It is. As long as that’s what you are comfortable with. I just wanted to make that clear.”

Dean then took a deep breath and nodded. His fingers reached the rim of Castiel’s boxer briefs as he finally lowered himself onto his knees.

And with shaky hands, he pulled Castiel’s underwear down, revealing a large hard cock.

Seeing it twitching in front of him, Dean felt his heartbeat increase at the thought of what was to follow.

He looked upward and saw Castiel was busy unbuttoning his shirt, while having his eyes glued on him. Dean helped him free himself of his shoes and pants, and soon the tie and the shirt fell on the ground.

Dean took a moment to admire him completely naked. How strong and lean his body was. How smooth it looked, with the moonlight shining on it.

Positioning himself, he delicately rested both his hands on Castiel’s hips, wet his lips, and after one last glance, he wrapped his mouth around the head of his cock.

And pushed his head forward.

Twirling his tongue around it.

Castiel swore loudly and Dean continued his motion, pleased with himself.

He then felt one hand resting on his head.

The moment that happened, Dean braced himself. He expected Castiel to thrust in his mouth while holding Dean’s head in place for him.

He wasn’t particularly fond of that practice, but based on his experience with men so far, it seemed to be the typical way to go.

The upside was that that part didn’t usually last very long and what followed definitely made up for it.

But it appeared that Castiel was different.

He had kept as still as he possibly could.

Except for gently shifting on his feet, the most he had done was to run his fingers through Dean’s hair while he moaned his name loudly.

He hadn’t forcibly nudged him or even held him still. Not one thrust.

Even when Dean teased him immensely by sliding his tongue on the tip of his cock.

And somehow, Castiel’s gentleness and consideration was rendering Dean even more nervous.

His jeans were getting extremely uncomfortable and he heard himself moan when Castiel continued fondling his hair.

“Dean, come here.”

Castiel took hold of Dean’s hands and helped him up. On his feet again, Dean immediately pressed his lips to his, and gave him a deep, sloppy kiss.

He then felt Castiel pull him to his right, gently making them leave their spot.

But a few steps later, Dean paused when his eyes fell on Castiel’s bed.

Looking at him with ardor, Castiel tried to smoothly draw him towards him, but Dean resisted his pull. ~~~~

He was determined to remain right where he was.

The bed was not what Dean wanted.

The bed, however comfortable it may be, often led to dangerous terrain or situations that Dean would prefer to avoid.

So, no bed.

Assessing Castiel’s mild confusion, Dean took a deep breath, and slowly backing away towards the dining room wall, he began unbuckling his own belt.

Feeling the jitters in his chest as Castiel watched him, Dean continued backwards until his heels reached the wall behind him. He gave Castiel one last look and turned around to face the wall.

He pushed his pants and underwear down, and rested his hands on the wall, readying himself.

For a brief moment, nothing happened. He was shaking, his heart was about to jump out of his chest, and he could feel Castiel’s burning stare on him.

Warm fingertips then brushed his waist.

Lips kissed the nap of his neck.

Fingers moving down to his thigh.

Shivering all over, Dean bit his lips hard, suppressing a deep moan.

Castiel pressed himself to him, making sure to rub his cock against Dean’s ass.

Dean lost his balance for a second as his left knee gave out.

Glued to him, Castiel whispered into Dean’s ear, “This is what you want?”

“Yes.”

Castiel rolled his hips.

Just once.

As though he was trying to assess how truthful Dean’s request had been.

Dean, desperate for it, pushed his ass against him, enticing Castiel to get busy right there and then.

He was surprised, however, when Castiel did the opposite. He backed away from Dean entirely, bringing his body warmth with him.

Confused, Dean was about to turn his head around, but Castiel said in his rasped voice, “Don’t move,” as he put his hand in the middle of his back.

Dean's cock twitched and tingles ran all the way down to his thighs.

Once Castiel was satisfied that Dean wouldn’t move, he removed his hand. Dean heard Castiel fetch something. A drawer opening.

And then, although he hadn’t said anything, Dean could sense that Castiel was standing behind him again.

Soft fingertips brushed one of Dean’s butt cheeks, so delicately, he was almost thinking it was a product of his imagination. And then it happened again. One finger sliding down the curve of his butt.

So subtlety.

It made Dean’s ass tremble.

Dean whined as he tried to remain still.

“You want it that much?” asked Castiel.

“Cas, please.”

Dean had tried to keep an even tone, but he had failed miserably.

He heard a distinct “pop,” and something dropped on the table near them.

“Are you keeping your shirt on for now?”

“Uh-huh.”

Fingers, generously coated with lube, slid into Dean’s crack and began massaging the rim of his butthole.

The touch made him jolt and he let out a gasp.

He then felt Castiel’s fingers adding a mild pressure.

“You were ready. You did this when you went to the bathroom?”

“Ye—yes.”

“Interesting.”

The tip of Castiel’s finger entered him slowly and Dean was unable to suppress a moan.

And soon, taking his time, Castiel was thrusting two of his long fingers, probing Dean’s sweet spot.

Dean’s cock was leaking. He was panting and sweating. If Castiel didn’t move things along, Dean wouldn’t even make it to the good part.

Out of breath, he pleaded, “Cas. Pl—you. Please.”

Castiel immediately pulled out his fingers, which made Dean groan. Turning his head to the side, Dean watched him grab the bottle of lube.

“You’re still okay for not using protection? It’s, um, a bit too late for some stuff. But if you prefer being cautious for the next part, there’s nothing wrong with that. We’re good either way.”

Dean shook his head.

“Without. I—I trust you.”

He turned his head back to the wall and inhaled deeply, preparing himself for it.

Castiel, with one hand holding Dean’s hip, rubbed the tip of his cock against Dean’s hole, making him tremble again.

Dean repositioned himself slightly, by sticking out his ass more after shifting on his feet, hoping it would facilitate Castiel.

And then, excruciatingly slow, after aligning himself, Castiel began pushing his cock inside him.

Despite keeping his mouth tightly shut, Dean moaned in the back of his throat as he felt his legs shake so much, they made his whole body tremble.

Once Castiel was fully pressed against Dean, he paused a second, assessing Dean’s state.

Dean, who was still trembling, let his forehead rest against the wall for a moment, as he tried to regain his composure. He had no idea why he was quivering so much. It had happened before, but certainly not to that degree. It was almost embarrassing, but he couldn’t help it.

“Dean?”

“I’m okay,” he breathed. “Just—please, don’t stop.”

Castiel brought his other hand to his shoulder, wanting to have a better hold on him, and then, after Dean felt his thumb caress him, he began thrusting slowly.

For some reason, the moment Dean had stepped into Castiel’s apartment, he had been overzealous about keeping quiet as possible.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that Castiel’s place, when compared to his own, had a calm vibe attached to it, and disrupting it felt wrong.

Or perhaps it was because their entire interactions—jobs or otherwise—had demanded discretion from them both since day one.

So, Dean had been determined to keep it that way, even now.

And to the best of his capacities, he managed to do so at first. But soon enough, as Castiel rolled his hips in that steady pace, always hitting exactly where he ought to, Dean couldn’t contain anything anymore.

He whined at every thrust. His chest was on fire. His cock was throbbing.

And thank God he had a wall to lean on because his legs would have long given out.

Castiel quickened the pace, which caused Dean to undergo another series of quivers and whimpers.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was echoing in the room, over their panting and moans.

Castiel then pushed himself into Dean—balls deep—gluing his entire body against him, and practically pinning Dean to the wall, all the while continuing to move his hips.

That was almost the goddamn end of Dean. He let out a long cry, which was followed by numerous curse words.

Catching his breath, Castiel paused for a second, still pressed against him.

“Fuck, Cas,” said Dean, taking this short respite trying to pull himself together.

“Sorry. Should have given you a warning.”

“No, it’s fine. I just—I—don’t stop.”

Castiel, staying in the same position, slid one hand over Dean’s stomach. He then lifted Dean’s shirt up to his shoulder, as to expose his back to his warm skin, but didn’t take it off completely.

He then leaned his arms against the wall as well, and making small circles with his hips, he gave short and firm thrusts.

Hearing him groan against him, made Dean’s cock twitch.

And as Castiel continued his pace, Dean’s heartbeat intensified and his moans became louder and deeper, which only seemed to coax Castiel even more.

Until Dean reached a point when no sound came out at all. He held his breath for long seconds at the sensation of Castiel sliding inside him, with his eyes tightly shut, only to finally gasp for air and cry out when his whole body shook.

Desperately panting, Dean couldn’t stop shivering and letting out sounds like he had never done before.

Once his quivering had somewhat subdued, Castiel pulled out and turned him quickly so he could face him. He eyed Dean’s cock for an instant, and then, locking eyes with him, he breathed, “Did you just come?”

“I’m sorry. I—I tried not to—”

Holding his chin, Castiel kissed him urgently. “Don’t apologize for that.”

As they continued sharing a long deep kiss, Dean felt Castiel’s hard cock against him. He expected Castiel to turn him over once more, so he could finish.

Or to slowly push Dean to his knees.

But once again, Castiel surprised him.

With strength, but still in a tender manner, Castiel pulled Dean away from the wall.

He seized the bottle of lube as they continued their way.

Towards the bed.

Still hesitant about this option, Dean didn’t resist this time, however.

He let Castiel guide him to the side of his bed with sweet kisses as Dean walked awkwardly, with one leg of his pants still stuck at his ankle.

Once they reached the bed, Dean quickly took off his left boot and shook his pants and boxers off his ankle, finally.

“Your shirt, too” Castiel whispered to him.

Dean did as he was told, while Castiel busied himself with pushing off the covers of the bed to the ground. He tossed the bottle of lube towards the pillows and Dean climbed on the bed, positioning himself on his stomach.

The sheets were soft and smelled of freshly cleaned laundry with a hint of something else that Dean couldn’t put his finger on.

He felt the weight of the mattress shift next to him.

Castiel grazed Dean’s ass with the back of his fingers again, making Dean’s heart flutter and his ass tremble. Again.

Wondering how in the world Castiel was able to make him do this, Dean buried his face in one of the pillows and bit hard.

Castiel then eased his fingers down Dean’s inner thigh.

Dean shifted his hips, following Castiel’s touch.

Feeling that burning desire building within him again.

He lifted his ass slightly to make him understand that he wanted it.

“I’d much prefer you on your back, Dean.”

He hesitated a moment, thinking it through.

This was why he avoided beds.

Getting too comfortable brought ideas to his mind.

Not ideas about what to do next, but rather, notions about what was really happening.

On an emotional level.

And this wasn’t his style.

He always had made a point of that.

And for a very specific reason.

But as he felt Castiel’s fingers moving up his thigh, he knew that his touch was too intoxicating to refuse anymore.

So, he obliged.

As he repositioned himself, Castiel helped him fix the pillows to make him more comfortable, and he smoothly positioned himself on top of him.

Castiel gently stroked the side of Dean’s face and took a moment to observe him.

And then locking eyes with him.

Not diverting his gaze, Castiel eased his fingers down Dean’s chest as Dean mildly quivered underneath his touch.

And staring into those blue eyes was enough to make him melt on the spot.

Satisfied with Dean’s response, Castiel leaned in and pressed his lips against his. Exploring his Dean’s mouth with his tongue.

His hunger more present than ever, Dean wrapped his legs and arms around him, feeling his own erection returning.

Sucking on his bottom lip, Castiel rolled his hips, and when Dean let out a whine, as his knees began trembling again, Castiel slowed down. He hoisted himself to look at him.

Dean, breathing heavily, wet his lips, eagerly awaiting Castiel’s next move.

Castiel gave him a quick kiss at the corner of his mouth and repositioned himself once more.

Now kneeling between Dean’s legs, Castiel grabbed a pillow and said, “Can you hand me the lube? It’s right next to your head.”

Awkwardly reaching for it, Dean managed to get hold of the bottle and handed it to him. But Castiel put it aside for a moment. Aided by Dean, who raised his lower body, Castiel slid a pillow underneath Dean’s lower back and ass. He then lifted Dean’s legs carefully, so his ankles were practically resting on Castiel’s shoulders.

Perhaps sensing Dean’s question, Castiel said, “Is this comfortable?”

Dean nodded.

He then slid his hand along Dean’s ribs, down to his waist, caressing his skin. Feeling the goosebumps, and Dean stirring his legs, Castiel grabbed the bottle of lube and applied quickly another layer on his cock to ensure Dean’s comfort.

His hand, still slick, wrapped around Dean’s cock, and with just a few quick strokes, it was enough to make Dean arch his back.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Castiel let go of his cock and Dean felt him entering him again.

He gave a few slow, deep thrusts, and Dean gasped as his fingers gripped the sheets.

Shifting on his knees, Castiel readjusted himself. He first gently pulled Dean to him, then leaned lower, only to press Dean’s knees against himself.

It was as though Castiel was testing Dean’s flexibility and frankly, while this positioning seemed rather odd to Dean, he didn’t mind one second.

By that point, Castiel could do anything to him, and he would gladly go along with it.

The change of angle, however, made all the difference when Castiel began thrusting again.

Dean let out a deep moan, as his legs were uncontrollably shaking. Breathing heavily, Dean shut his eyes, hoping it would help him calm down, but all it did was reinforce the blissful sensation of Castiel’s long thrusts, while hearing him groan deeply.

Until a panting Castiel suddenly paused.

As they both caught their breaths, Castiel moved again, and Dean felt Castiel’s sweet breath brush against his chin.

But Dean’s eyes were still closed.

And he knew that was why Castiel had paused.

“Dean?”

Chills spread on his arms at the sound of Castiel’s deep voice.

Soft lips caressed his chin and he heard, “Open your eyes.”

Dean swallowed.

And did as he was told.

His eyes immediately found the piercing blue staring back at him.

They both remained in that fashion for a long minute, simply looking back at each other.

While Dean felt his chest swell with jitters.

And a form of excitement which he couldn’t recall having felt before.

And on cue, Castiel began thrusting again, not diverting his eyes away from Dean.

Excruciatingly slow.

Deep.

Long strokes.

With Dean pinned to the mattress, making him practically beg for it.

Precum was already sliding down his shaft.

He could not stop moaning.

He could feel the pull in his stomach growing.

And caught in the moment, he rested his hands gently on the side of Castiel’s face. Brushing his cheek with his thumb. Fondling his hair at the nap of his neck.

And that did it.

That was what Castiel had been waiting for.

His rhythm immediately altered. His breathing became uneven. And his pace quickened.

And seeing him reacting that way, was enough for Dean to feel light-headed.

Until, crying out Dean’s name, Castiel gave one last thrust, one that took Dean’s breath away, and collapsed on top of him.

Their warm, sweaty bodies intertwined, Dean listened to Castiel catching his breath, as he himself was trying to pull himself together.

Once Castiel had regained his composure, he kissed Dean on his jaw gently and slid himself next to him, keeping one hand on Dean’s chest.

He took a deep breath and hoisted himself up, sitting next to him.

Glancing at Dean’s hard cock, Castiel said, smiling at him, “Anything in particular you’d like to do about that?”

“I’m okay. I’ll—just need a minute.”

Castiel let out a laugh. “To do what?”

“It will pass.”

“That sounds wasteful.”

Dean’s cock twitched.

“Talk about betraying yourself.”

“You—you don’t have to do anything.”

“I’d very much like to. May I?”

“But you’ve done plenty. Fuck, you literally did everything and all I did—”

“Never heard someone purposely denying himself pleasure like this, Dean,” said Castiel, cutting him off.

Dean let out a soft laugh. He turned his eyes on Castiel, and nodded at him.

With his fingertips, Castiel brushed Dean’s chest. His ribs.

His hips.

In the soft and tender spot nearing his cock that made Dean’s knees weak.

Lifting himself with his elbows, Dean looked down to see what Castiel was doing.

By only using his thumb and index, Castiel took hold of Dean’s cock, right underneath the head. With a mild pressure, he stroked Dean’s cock.

Quick, barely discernible motions.

But at the perfect spot.

With just the right amount of pressure.

Dean had initially thought it would be a short relief, considering it was a simple action compared to the acrobatics they had just undertaken.

But the pleasure grew slow and high as Castiel carried on with his motions, until Dean’s entire body jolted, with him whining sharply.

Cum slid down his cock and onto his lower abdomen.

Castiel let out a deep, “Hmm,” at the sight, dabbed one finger into it and licked his finger.

 _Why the fuck is this so hot?_ thought Dean.

“Better?” said Castiel, smirking at him.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He held Dean’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. He stared at Dean tenderly for an instant and then climbed off bed.

Dean slid himself on his side to see where Castiel had gone, only to watch him return quickly from the bathroom. He handed Dean a wet cloth to clean himself with, and threw it in a basket bin not far from the bed once Dean was done.

He climbed back to bed, pulled on the sheets to their waists, and the next thing Dean knew, he was cozily lying to Castiel’s side, all bundled up against him.

The rain was still falling.

Castiel’s breathing was becoming deeper. Smiling, he caressed Dean’s temple with his thumb, looking at him fondly.

And Dean lost himself in the blue of Castiel’s eyes.

If he had felt exposed a moment ago after what they had just done, it was nothing compared to how exposed he felt now.

A craving he had never encountered before formed itself within him.

A hunger for something he always told himself he never needed.

Intimacy.

And with this, the short moment of peace that Dean had been awarded quickly vanished.

He slowly turned himself on his back, counted a few seconds, hoping it would hide his mild panic, and then sat at the edge of the bed. He felt Castiel stir behind him and a soft hand rested on his back, caressing his skin. Castiel positioned himself next to him, kissed his shoulder. He slid his other hand on his chest, but Dean stopped him by seizing his hand. He gave him a shy smile and moved his hand away.

“It’s getting late.”

“You should stay.”

“I can’t.”

Now determined to avoid Castiel’s eyes, Dean slid his underwear on and stood up from the bed.

Away from Castiel.

“You okay?” he heard Castiel say, as he put his shirt on. “Something wrong?”

Dean lowered his eyes a moment and shook his head.

“I just really need to head back.”

Castiel simply stared at him, still seated at the edge of the bed with the sheets wrapped around his waist.

And his hair in such disarray.

Before he wouldn’t be able to leave, Dean turned around and fetched the rest of his clothes. Pants and boots on, he hastily put on his jacket, feeling Castiel’s eyes on him.

He glimpsed at Castiel who hadn’t moved and was harboring a deadpan expression, which did not help Dean, not one second.

Just as he was about to open the door, he heard Castiel say, “Good night, Dean.”

Dean froze. His hand on the handle, he risked a peek at Castiel.

He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look sad. Nor disappointed.

He simply watched him as though he was waiting to see if Dean would truly leave just like this after everything.

“Night, Cas. See you soon.”

And after a long stare, making him almost reconsider his decision, he twisted the door handle and left Castiel’s apartment.

And not believing what he had just done, Dean exited the building by almost running down the stairs.

The rest of the week turned out to be rather long and tiresome for Dean. Not because it was particularly eventful. Quite the opposite. And that had been the main problem.

On the very next day, he had received a text with the sole instruction to lay low until the next weekly meet-up.

During which a lot of questions would—no doubt—be asked.

But that had been it. No mention of another drive. No immediate summoning. Nothing concerning the whereabouts of the car. Or about the rest of the evening.

And while Dean worried immensely about what Zachariah might say at their next weekly meeting, the thought of facing Castiel was far more troubling.

He had kicked himself all the way back home for having given in to his impulses.

He should have kept his hands to himself back in that alley.

He should have refused Castiel’s proposition.

He should have turned around when he found out that they were heading to his place.

And he absolutely shouldn’t have run out on Castiel like the coward that he was.

Not after the night they had had.

 _That_ had been a mistake.

And it occupied his thoughts day and night. When he was manning the front desk. When he was tossing and turning in his bed. When he was staring helplessly at his phone, almost hoping for a request to show up for an emergency meeting at _The Gates_.

And when it was finally time to present himself to Zachariah’s office, Dean felt his chest pounding and the blood slowly drained from his face by every step he took walking down that hallway.

Being late to that meeting was out of the question, so Dean had made a point of arriving much earlier than usual.

Which is why it had been unexpected that Duma let him into Zachariah’s office right away.

“They’re waiting for you.”

With sweaty palms, Dean nodded and entered the room.

Zachariah, as always, was behind his desk, while Castiel was standing in front of him, holding his hands behind his back.

And Uriel was there too, in his usual spot by the window.

Uriel turned his head towards Dean when he heard the door open, as had Zachariah.

Castiel, however, did not move one muscle.

Not even a stir.

“Welcome, Dean,” said Zachariah. “You’re here. Terrific! We can begin.”

Feeling uneasy, Dean delicately shut the door behind him and walked to Castiel’s side. He cautiously glanced at him, but when it was clear that Castiel was determined to not look at him, Dean redirected his attention to Zachariah.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” Dean said to Zachariah and Uriel. “I must have read the time wrong.”

“You didn’t,” said Zachariah. “It appears that you both didn’t want to miss this meeting. Which is encouraging considering the circumstances.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, now,” said Uriel in a grave tone. “I’ll find this _encouraging_ when you two start shedding some light in what exactly happened on Tuesday night.”

For the next five minutes, Castiel gave a detailed account—much more detailed than the one he had initially given Dean on that night—of what had happened inside that house.

“After more than half an hour of waiting, with still no sign of Mr. Prince showing up any time soon, I was seriously considering leaving, even though I know what it would mean,” he said, shooting a glance at Uriel. “The importance of this meeting had been made very clear by Mr. Garrison himself.”

“Metatron can be a bit dramatic sometimes,” said Uriel.

“Be that as it may,” said Castiel, staring at Uriel, “it isn’t my place to question him.”

A smile formed itself on Uriel’s lips.

“But you left.”

Castiel nodded. “I was hoping it was simply an isolated incident of Mr. Prince being…unprofessional…”

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said Castiel. “Which is why none of it felt right and it soon dawned on me that the longer I waited, the worse I was making it for myself.”

“How so?”

“Mrs. Prince supposedly called her husband at my arrival to find out about his whereabouts. And then she put her phone away, didn’t call back or even look at it again.”

“That’s unusual.”

“For an anxious spouse waiting for her husband’s return? Yes, it is. Especially when she has to do so in my company.”

Dean was relieved that Zachariah had not been watching him at that moment because he had not been able to suppress a frown at Castiel’s words.

Uriel, however, had caught it.

“She kept checking the clock in her kitchen. And eyeing the living room window. Not the front door, _the window_ ,” continued Castiel.

“You thought the house was being watched,” said Zachariah. “So, you left and now we are still missing that information regarding Ketch.”

Castiel nodded.

“Which brings us to the second part of the evening.” Zachariah then turned his gaze to Dean. “From what I’ve heard, not only were you followed by two vehicles, but you also managed to involve the police.”

Dean was about to claim all responsibility, as it was his job to ensure it wouldn’t happen.

But Castiel spoke before he could.

“Sir,” he said, stepping forward, his hands still behind his back, “Mr. Winchester did nothing wrong. His work was exemplary.”

“Exemplary? That’s what you call it?”

“It wasn’t his fault that we were followed in the first place. Maybe if I had left earlier, we wouldn’t have been followed at all. And even then, despite the fact that we had two unknown vehicles and numerous police cars after us, he still managed to ensure our escape and safely hid the vehicle. With all due respect, this is no small feat.”

“Is that so?”

Castiel turned directly to Uriel. “I don’t know anyone who could claim to have done so. Do you?”

Uriel and Castiel held their stare a moment, until Uriel let out a sigh and advanced slowly, his eyes still on Castiel.

“So, you trust him?” asked Uriel.

There was a pause, and then Castiel gave him a firm nod. “If I can’t trust him, there’s really no point in working together, is there?”

Having someone speak highly of him was not something Dean was accustomed to, but to hear Castiel defend him to that degree after his conduct, made Dean feel far worse than he could have imagined.

“All right, then,” said Uriel. “But let me remind you that even though we have _friends_ who are ready to keep us out of sticky situations, there are _limits_ to what we can do as well. So, in the coming weeks, I’d suggest increasing your level of caution.” And then, with his eyes still on Castiel, he added, “Why don’t you tell us what happened once you left the Princes’ residence, Dean.”

Dean swallowed hard and recounted the event as best he could, right up to the point when they had hidden the car. “And then, once the coast looked clear enough, we hurried out of there.”

“And then what?”

Dean froze on his answer.

“We went our separate ways, as always, of course,” said Castiel. “I met no issue on my way back home.”

“Same,” said Dean, following Castiel’s lead.

Uriel and Zachariah exchanged a look.

Which did very little for Dean’s nerves.

But then Zachariah finally said, “All right. Now that we have this information, here’s how we are moving forward. _For now_ , you two aren’t in any trouble. But Mr. Prince hasn’t been seen since and this is a problem. So, to speed things up, we have requested the services of Ephraim on the matter,” he said to Castiel, “which means that someone has to fill in on his usual workload. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Castiel nodded.

“Dean,” said Zachariah, “your task won’t be affected by this in the slightest. Same rules and instructions apply. And it will only be until we tend to this situation. All right? Uriel, was there anything else you wanted to add?”

He took a good long look at Castiel and Dean. Smiling, he said, “Not at this moment, no. But I’ll know where to start if something comes to mind. Gentlemen,” he said, before heading out of the first door.

Zachariah then mentioned to use caution one last time and dismissed them for the night.

And Castiel politely wished them both “Good evening,” and rushed to his usual exit without glancing at Dean once.

Eaten by guilt, Dean promised himself to fix it the next time they saw each other.

So, on Tuesday night, when he picked up Castiel in front of a massive hotel with the Sunbeam, he put on his most genuine smile, and greeted him as kindly as he could.

One look at Castiel, however, was enough to render Dean flustered on the spot. Watching him in his pinstripe suit, and all Dean could think of was the soft skin underneath it.

Of his long fingers, sliding on his ribs.

And chapped lips and teeth on his neck.

Dean swallowed hard and tried to not get carried away with the imagery.

“Cas, I—about the other day—” he paused, clearing his throat, “I—I’m sorry I left so abruptly.”

Castiel remained silent, but he was deadly staring at him in the mirror.

“I know it was shitty to—I—but I really needed to leave. The rules and I just—I didn’t want to—”

Needless to say, this random mumbling had not been the speech Dean had prepared for him.

“What are you saying exactly?” asked Castiel.

“I—it’s just…I don’t want to make this weird. Or get either of us in trouble.”

Castiel was staring at him for a long minute, until he said, “Don’t worry about it.” It had been said in an even tone. Not angrily, but not as warmly as Dean would have preferred, either.

“I really am sorry…It wasn’t about—what happened was—” Dean stopped himself, now convinced he would simply embarrass himself. “I—I just don’t think it’s a good idea to—”

“Dean,” scoffed Castiel, “I said, don’t worry about it. Okay? We’ll just never mention it again.”

Frowning, Dean said, “What—wait, what do you mean?’

“ _I mean,_ from now on, so there’s no confusion, everything will be done properly. I’ll get in the car, tell you where to go, do the job and return. Nothing more. No chit chat or—” He then turned his eyes to the window and said, “We’ll just focus on the job and act like nothing ever happened. Because it didn’t. Right?”

Dean felt a pit in his stomach grow.

Surely, he thought, it wouldn’t come to that.

But Castiel was true to his word. He remained strictly professional with Dean. He didn’t scowl at him or even was impatient with him. He talked to him only when needed to and he absolutely refused to look him in the eye.

And it was driving Dean absolutely insane.

Knowing that he had royally fucked up, he had still attempted to mend the rift between them, so things could return to how they were before the day of the car chase, but it had been without success. ~~~~

This lasted for nearly two weeks.

Two weeks of Dean kicking himself for his own stupidity and stubbornness.

Of avoiding questions from both Sam and his grandfather about his weird attitude.

Until one Friday night, after a long horrible day when everything seemed to rub Dean the wrong way, he felt anger slowly rising within him at Castiel’s perpetual cold silence.

And what aggravated him the most was that he could tell Castiel wasn’t doing so well, either.

He hadn’t voiced it, of course, but Dean was convinced that the new task Zachariah had asked him to undertake was bothering him.

And this stupid rift between them wasn’t helpful.

At the end of the night, one that had been relatively brief, he dropped Castiel off on Echo Avenue, a few streets away from where Dean was to bring back the vehicle. Castiel uttered a quick “Good night,” and hurriedly stepped out of the vehicle, leaving no time for Dean to say anything.

And that was when Dean had had enough.

Disregarding the rules, he turned off the car’s engine, pushed the door open and rushed after him.

He gently stopped him as he reached for his shoulder.

“Dean, what—get back in the car,” hissed Castiel, moving his hand away from him. He scanned around them, worried who might be watching.

“No. I—I don’t care,” he said, standing in front of him. “I can’t do this anymore. You, not talking to me and—”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this was your idea,” he said in an even voice.

“No,” breathed Dean. “I never said I wanted us to basically ignore each other. This is not what I wanted. And I certainly didn’t want to act like _nothing_ happened,” he added, whispering.

“You could have fooled me.”

“Cas, please, just—” He paused when he felt his phone buzzing, but then continued, choosing to ignore it. “Just let me explain—”

“You already did. And now is hardly the time for it.”

“I—but—”

His phone buzzed again.

“Fuck.”

Frustrated, he retrieved his phone. Sam was calling.

“You should get that,” said Castiel. He then tried to walk away from him, but Dean clutched onto his sleeve.

“Just hold on one second, okay?”

Castiel didn’t look happy. And yet, he stayed put.

Once Dean was satisfied that Castiel wasn’t about to run off, he answered the phone with the firm intention of immediately returning to their conversation.

“Sammy, hey. I—I’m sorry, but it’s really not a good time right now.”

“Hey, _Dean_. That’s unfortunate because now’s the perfect time for me. And for _Sammy_ ’s sake, I hope you reconsider this phone call.”

Dean stopped breathing. He almost dropped the phone.

“Who’s this?” he growled.

“ _Ouch_. That hurts. And here I thought we were friends.”

“Who is this?” he repeated with agitation.

Castiel was now staring at him with concern.

“It’s Gordon, dumbass,” said the voice on the phone.

Dean clenched his jaw.

“What the fuck are you doing with Sam’s phone? What— _what the fuck_?”

“Oh, good. I have your attention. Finally. So, I’ll be quick: stop by and give me my money back already. I won’t ask nicely anymore.”

Forming a fist with his other hand, Dean said, “And I fucking told you I don’t owe you _anything_. I never did. And aren’t you—that debt has been settled anyway so why are you still harassing me for it? And what the fuck are you doing with my brother’s phone?”

“I asked Sammy if I could borrow it. I thought you’d take my call that way. And look! It worked. He wasn’t too keen at first, but I think he’s slowly warming up to me. Isn’t that right, Sammy? Here. Say hello to Dean, I think he’s a bit upset.”

Gordon handed the phone to someone else and Dean, feeling sick to his stomach, was waiting for the confirmation that Gordon was just fucking with him.

But then he heard a faint, “Dean?” at the other end of the line.

“No. No—Sam?”

“Dean, I—I’m sorry. I—I tried to get away, but—hey!” and then Dean heard some commotion in the background.

“Gordon, I swear to fucking God, if—if you touch one fucking hair—”

“That will be entirely up to you, Dean. You know what to do. Bring back the fifty ‘G’ you owe me. Tonight.”

“Fuck, Gordon. I—I don’t have that mo— _I don’t owe you anything_!” said Dean nearly on the verge of tears.

“No? Okay, I’ll give you another incentive then.” There was a short pause and then he heard Gordon tell someone, “Break his arm.”

Sam yelled protests until he let out a sharp scream that resonated through Dean’s body.

“There. Does that help?” said Gordon. “Bring me my money or I’ll do way more than break his arm. And Dean? I’m seriously getting impatient. Don’t let me get bored with poor Sammy here as my sole distraction.”

And he hung up the phone.


	7. Chapter Seven: Last Minute Drive

Terror spreading throughout his body paralyzed Dean on the spot.

Unable to breathe properly, he simply stood there on the sidewalk, replaying Sam’s screams in his head.

Dean’s stomach turned and he rested his hands on his knees, losing his balance.

He knew Castiel was talking to him, but his ears were ringing and he couldn’t make out what he was saying.

Staring at the ground, trying to not hurl, Dean noticed Castiel’s feet advancing towards him.

A gentle hand rested in the middle of his back, which startled him.

“Sorry, I—Dean, what’s wrong?” asked Castiel. His hands were both lifted in front of him to reassure Dean that he meant him no harm and an anxious look spread across his face.

“I—I have to go,” Dean managed to say. But he remained grounded on his spot, having lost the ability to walk.

Castiel glanced carefully at the people walking around them, and stepped closer.

“Dean, what’s the matter? What happened?”

Feeling his throat threatening, he shook his head. “I—I can’t. I—I—”

“Dean, get in the car,” said Castiel nudging him towards the Sunbeam.

“Wh—no.”

“We can’t stay here. Just—just get in the car.”

With shaky legs, Dean did as he was told. He sat in the driver’s seat and Castiel sat in the back seat, as always.

His eyes were prickling and he couldn’t get rid of that nauseous feeling.

The moment Castiel shut the door, he said, “Dean, what’s wrong? Who’s Gordon?”

“He—he was—Cas, you—you don’t—this isn’t your problem. Shit—I–I need to return the car and I—”

“Dean, take a deep breath, okay?” said Castiel in a composed tone. He gently squeezed his shoulder. “Deep breath.”

Dean did so.

“Don’t worry about the car for now. Just tell me what happened. Who is Gordon?”

He swallowed hard and said, “Gordon—Gordon Walker—he was my old boss. Before I worked for—with you. I used to be one of the mechanics at his garage.”

He paused. He didn’t like sharing that information. Not to his family. Not to his friends. Nor his employers, regardless of how impressive they might find it.

And he absolutely didn’t want Castiel to know about this.

Even if he knew this was probably child’s play when compared to what Castiel had seen.

Or even did himself.

“And as a mechanic, what exactly did you do for him?”

“I—I worked—I—” the rest of his sentence died in his throat.

“Dean, there’s very little that could shock me. What was it?”

He took another deep breath and said, “It—we worked on stolen vehicles. I—I didn’t steal them…just…”

“Gordon Walker. Gordon Walker…” said Castiel as though he was trying to trigger his memory. “Is that—that garage on Creedy Street?”

Nodding, Dean lifted his eyes to the mirror for the first time since he had gotten into the car.

“Okay. You ended up with me,” continued Castiel, “so I’m guessing something happened there.”

“A week before—before I started working with you—there was a robbery. More than half of what Gordon was hiding disappeared, including cash he had stashed in his office, which none of us even knew about. I certainly didn’t know about it.”

“That must have been quite the day,” said Castiel.

“He was frantic. He—it’s a long story, but the important thing is that Gordon was pissed and hell bent on finding out who had done it. They actually managed to recover a lot that had been stolen. They even found a thief, too. But his cash was still missing and the guy they caught swore he had nothing to do with that. It started a witch hunt and because of a lot of things that didn’t add up, like no sign of forced entry and the security system hadn’t been triggered, it suggested someone from the inside.”

And knowing exactly where Dean was going with this, Castiel said, “And Gordon suspected you.”

“I never understood why he offered me a job in the first place considering the guy pretty much hated my guts the moment he set eyes on me. I _never_ did anything. Never caused trouble. Never asked for favours. Never complained. And yet, he always had it in for me. So, when all this happened, because he needed to blame someone, it didn’t take him long to single me out. It was bad. He was turning everyone against me and…”

“It’s not like you could have simply resigned.”

“And he couldn’t fire me, either. I knew too much. That’s when Zachariah offered me the job. He promised that the situation with Gordon would be fixed, but it did nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“He keeps insisting that I had something to do with it and that I owe him money. I didn’t—I—I didn’t do anything,” pleaded Dean. “And now, the fucker, he—he’s got Sam and he’s asking me to return what I stole. What am I supposed to do? I don’t have that kind of money. And Sam, he—he’s—”

Dean was unravelling. His hands were shaking and his chest was heavy.

But then, he felt Castiel’s hand squeeze his shoulder.

“Dean? I just need to make sure I understood properly, okay? You’re saying that it was Zachariah’s promise to keep Gordon at bay and Gordon didn’t listen?”

“Yes.” There was more to it than that, but that had been the general agreement. “Are—was I dumb to believe Zachariah or—”

“No,” said Castiel firmly. “If that was your agreement, I can assure you, he had meant it." Pursing his lips, he said, looking at Dean in the mirror, “And what about Sam? Did they hurt him?”

“I heard him scream. I think they broke his arm.”

“You sure it was him?”

“I talked to him. And I definitely heard him scream. Be—beyond that…”

Castiel sighed deeply. “Okay, here’s the thing. Even though it would require a certain finesse in execution, I would normally advise you to inform Zachariah that Walker is still harassing you. I don’t know why this has somehow slipped their notice, but it has and they won’t be thrilled to learn that.” He then paused, taking in another deep breath. “Unfortunately, that is not an option for us tonight.”

“Why?” said Dean with a broken voice.

“I know for a fact that, at this very moment, everyone at the home office is…busy. If you will. They are dealing with a pressing matter and interrupting them would be ill-advised. And since this is a situation that requires immediate attention because of Sam, it means that we will have to deal with it ourselves.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Cas, no. You can’t—this is—I’m—this is my problem.”

“Do you have a plan to get Sam safely out of there? To make Gordon stop?”

Dean shut his eyes and shook his head.

“You’re in luck, because I do.”

“But—Cas. What about you? And we—we aren’t supposed—”

“I know. We’ll just have to be careful.” Locking eyes in the mirror, Castiel then added, “Let me help you.”

Dean swallowed hard. This was too much to ask. Too risky for the both of them.

But remembering Sam’s screams, he had no choice.

He caved in.

“What’s your plan?”

Glad to see Dean was finally accepting his assistance, Castiel repositioned himself on his seat and asked him, “Are you feeling better? Good enough to drive?”

Focusing on his breathing, which was soothing, Dean told him yes.

“Good. So, first thing, we are going to bring back the car where you were supposed to. I’ve already shut off my phone, so there shouldn’t be any issues there, and you can do the same once we leave this vehicle behind. Start the car so we can get going.”

Dean listened to him, and they continued down Echo Avenue.

“How much is he asking for?”

“Fifty grand. Which, as I told you, I don’t have.”

Castiel let out a deep sigh. “I don’t have that kind of money, either. But I know where to get it.”

Dean turned his eyes to the mirror. He did not like the sound of that.

“Cas, I—I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“If we do everything perfectly, we should be in the clear.”

“Okay, but…the money…”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Still staring back and forth between the road and the mirror, Dean was not convinced.

“I’m not going to steal it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Castiel. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” said Dean earnestly.

And the moment he said it, it was as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“And do you believe me when I tell you that my priority is to make sure that nothing will happen to Sam, tonight and after?”

“Yes, I believe you.”

Soon, they parked the vehicle where Dean had been instructed, on the right side of the Visyak building parking lot near the trees.

Dean did his usual swiping of the car, while Castiel took watch, and moments later, they headed towards the street. ~~~~

“We need to make a few stops so I can get the money. Two, possibly three, depending on the first two,” said Castiel, walking next to him as they crossed the parking lot.

“Where?”

“One is near downtown, and the other two are about halfway to the garage. If I remember correctly, Creedy Street, that’s not far from that big apartment building they were building next to Montgomery Park, right?”

“Yeah,” said Dean, surprised that Castiel knew exactly where it was. “They finished the building now, but yeah, that’s where it is.”

“Okay, so depending on the traffic and the number of stops we need to do, an hour…maybe just over that before we can make it there.”

Dean came to a halt. “How? I don’t have a car. We can’t possibly succeed doing all this in an hour without a car.”

“I agree, which is why we will use _my_ car.”

Dean frowned.

“Come on, Dean. We have a bit to walk before getting there.”

At an expeditious pace, Dean and Castiel reached the Wings Storage Facility, about twenty minutes later.

A main building was near the front gates, and the rest of the premises consisted of aisles upon aisles, holding numerous storage units.

Castiel used a magnetic key to gain access to the front gates, and they immediately rushed down the aisles.

No security guards were roaming around.

And as far as Dean could discern, there was a serious lack of security cameras, too.

Which was as troubling as it was reassuring.

“I still can’t believe you have a car,” he said to Castiel, following him into the fourth aisle. “I was always under the impression that driving wasn’t really your thing.” Once he heard what he had said, he added, “And…now I just realized that the only reason why I thought that was because I’m the one driving you around, which is…”

Their surroundings weren’t properly lit, but by the lamppost light shining high above them, Dean could have sworn Castiel was smirking at him.

“Although it is not for that reason that I require a driver for the job, as you may know, you are nevertheless correct with your assumption that I do not drive very often. Which is why I prefer storing my car instead of leaving it in my building’s parking lot. It is an older vehicle. I’m sure you know that in order to keep those in good condition, simply parking them in a garage—or storage unit—and leaving them untouched for a long period of time often damages them.”

“Um, yeah. Just putting a cover on it won’t do it.”

“Quite so. And that’s why I made sure my car was stored properly when I acquired it a few years ago.”

Dean’s face fell.

“Um, Cas, I—I hope you’re not expecting me to put this car back together in five minutes because—”

“Of course not.” He stopped at unit nine-one-eight. “I may not be as car savvy as you are, but I don’t have any delusions about that. But we’re in luck. Since the weather has been so agreeable lately, I made the necessary arrangement a few weeks ago, so it’s ready to use.” He unlocked the door. “I have you to thank for that, actually.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “I think your love for the cars we use made me think that I ought to get this one out more often. I thought of asking you—I’m sure you would have enjoyed it—but for obvious reasons, I concluded that it might not be a good idea.”

He slid the door open and found a switch to his left that turned on a very faint light in the center of the ceiling.

The storage unit was much more spacious than it appeared to be. It had room for shelves, numerous boxes, an old dresser and a car.

Which was hidden under a grey cover.

After wiggling the keys in front of him, Castiel tossed them at Dean.

“You want me to drive?”

“Only if you want.”

Dean almost laughed at that one.

“I know you’re good for it,” argued Castiel. “And I know you’ll enjoy it. It’s only a pity that we get to do this in such horrible circumstances.”

Despite everything, a smile actually formed itself on Dean’s face.

Eager to see what Castiel had reserved for him, Dean helped him take off the cover.

And for the second time that night, Dean was rendered speechless.

Instantly, his eyes were prickling again, but it wasn’t due to the same overwhelming emotion that had hit him earlier that night.

This wasn’t due to terror. Or panic.

This was a moment of near euphoria.

“It’s a '67 Chevy Impala,” he heard Castiel say. “What do you think?”

“S’awesome,” said Dean, in mind-boggling disbelief at what he was staring at. “How—where did you get it?”

“For your own safety, I’ll tell you the short version, which is that it was given to me as a thank you for a favor I did for someone a few years ago.”

“Who was it?”

“You don’t want to know. And as for where they got the car, well, that information wasn’t shared with me, but given the person in question, it’s not very difficult to imagine how they acquired it. And considering that’s what they gave me, which was generous, to say the least, it gives me a good idea of what else they must hold.”

Unable to look away, Dean took a step forward, breathed deeply, and slid his hand over the roof of the car.

He knew that the chances that this was his father’s car were slim.

Less than slim.

Surely, it couldn’t be the same car.

This was a coincidence—a nice one—but nothing more.

But it looked exactly like it.

Just as he had remembered it.

Given the car’s ownership history, the VIN number wouldn’t be of much help here.

Having worked the milieu himself, Dean knew very well that there were ways to alter it.

But there were other ways that only Dean could tell. Like the _S.W_ and _D.W._ engravings he and Sam had done on the wooden panel in the back.

Even if time was of the essence, and that it might seem odd to Castiel, Dean needed to have that detail cleared up.

And sure enough, there it was.

_S.W. D. W._

Tears were nearly forming at the corner of his eyes. It had come back to them. Perhaps not in the way he had expected…but it was there.

“Baby.”

And the thought that their Impala had manifested itself in front of him in a moment when he desperately needed help to rescue Sam hit him straight to his heart.

It was like a good omen. One he hadn’t had the chance to witness in years.

It was as though, for once, things wouldn’t go to shit and leave him with nothing.

He felt his chest swell with hope, despite how dire the situation was.

He stepped out of the vehicle and feasted his eyes at the miracle.

“Dean? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, snapping out of it. “It’s just—it’s a really nice car.” And locking eyes with him, he added, truly meaning his words, “I’m really happy you have this.”

Their first stop was at a luxurious townhouse, near downtown. As soon as Dean parked the vehicle in front of the house, Castiel opened the door and told Dean he wouldn’t be long.

Not wishing to argue over this, Dean nodded and watched Castiel walk to the front door.

A blond man wearing a V-neck answered the door and let him in.

Dean comforted himself that he seemed pleased to see Castiel, at least.

Patiently waiting for Castiel’s return, Dean ran his hands over the dash, taking a moment to appreciate the car.

“We’re gonna get him back, Baby.”

Soon enough, he heard the car door open. Castiel dropped a backpack in the back seat, before sitting next to Dean again.

“That was fast,” Dean said. “Did it work?”

“Yes. Let’s hope our next stop occurs this smoothly as well.”

Dean was surprised to find that Orlando’s Emporium, a shop which was a few streets down from his home, was their next stop. He had never set foot in the shop before, nor did he know the owner, but he had often walked by without paying too much attention.

He definitely would in the future.

And just like at the townhouse, Castiel returned to the car, minutes after their arrival, with a briefcase in hand this time.

“Next stop?”

“The garage.”

Frowning, Dean said, “You—you mean to tell me you got fifty grand already?” He had lowered his voice when he said “Fifty grand.”

Castiel nodded as though this was a very common thing to do.

Dean remained silent and turned the wheel.

Since Gordon already had Sam, there was _no way_ Dean would purposely leave that car within his reach.

That lunatic’s reign of terror ended here and now.

He parked the car further down the street, and both he and Castiel, sitting in the car, scanned the place as best they could. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Quiet. Dark.

And still, the idea of waltzing in there with more money than Dean had ever set eyes on, seemed dangerously stupid.

“Ready?” said Castiel, a hand on the door handle.

“Wait—you’re coming, too?”

Castiel paused. “I—I won’t if you prefer that I stay in the car, but…I’d like to see this through until the end with you.”

Aware of the probability that this was an ambush, Dean reasoned that having Castiel by his side was undoubtedly a smart move.

But Gordon was already under the impression that Dean was being treated differently because of Zachariah. Castiel’s presence would only further solidify that idea and he feared it would only aggravate the situation.

Also, there was the issue of making a public appearance together, however small it was. They had played with fire the entire night as it was, Castiel accompanying him in there would be nothing short of folly.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Castiel. “There are many reasons why I should stay here and let you go in alone.”

Dean pursed his lips.

“But Dean, I meant what I said when I told you that my goal is to make sure Sam walks out of there in one piece. Let me help you.”

Dean nodded, taking in a deep breath.

“It’s going to be okay,” said Castiel kindly. “We go in. Focus on the money and Sam. They’ll try to rattle you, don’t let them. Don’t get caught in the chit chat. If Sam isn’t in the room, insist on seeing him before you give them anything. Be direct. And when they say they want the money before setting him free, tell them no.”

“Have you—have you done this before?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Dean didn’t dare ask in which context.

“And how does this usually play out? Assuming everything works out, they get their money and Sam is with us, then what? They just let us go?”

“Probably not. Which is why I want to go with you.”

Dean blinked.

“What—what are you going to do?”

“Nothing. I just want to see it through that once the exchange is made, this is the end of it. I won’t say anything, I won’t interfere. I’ll simply stand with you.”

Dean took another deep breath.

And then Castiel added, “Unless they start threatening you and your brother. Then they will definitely need an introduction.”

With both the bag and briefcase in one hand, Dean headed towards the side entrance of the garage, the one which was typically used for the employees. Except for some distant ruckus coming from down the street, the place seemed rather calm.

Once he had reached the door, he shot a look at Castiel who stood behind him, and after they nodded at each other, Dean knocked on the door.

“Come in,” they heard someone say from inside.

Dean cautiously opened the door and found three men waiting for them. They were beside what looked like a blue Camaro being taken apart. Three men who Dean had never met before.

And then there was Gordon who was sitting on a stool on the other side of the car.

And Sam was nowhere to be seen.

“Dean, so glad you managed to swing by.” Gordon, harboring a smug face, left his seat when he noticed what Dean was holding.

And then his eyes fell on Castiel.

He paused and tilted his head. “You brought a friend. I didn’t say you could do that.”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t,” said Dean, trying to keep his tone even. He glanced at the three men to the left for a second, as he tightened his hold on the bag and briefcase.

Gordon chuckled. “Who is he?”

“The pope. Where’s my brother?”

Gordon rolled his eyes. He threw something at Dean. Sam’s phone. The screen was broken. Dean swallowed and shoved it in his pocket.

“Your brother is fine. He’s resting. His arm…that took a lot out of him.”

Trying to keep his face straight, Dean shifted on his feet.

“Bring him here, so I can see how well he really is and then we can get this over with.”

Gordon shook his head. “Nah. The money, first.”

“No way. Sam, _then_ the money.”

Gordon’s smile widened and continued staring at Dean for a moment.

“How do I know you even got the money in there?”

“How do I know he’s still breathing?”

“ _Dean_ ,” said Gordon, letting out a short laugh, as he rested a hand over his chest. “I mean, do you really think I’d stoop that low?”

“I don’t know, why don’t we ask Sam, the teenager you kidnapped to use as blackmail?”

The room went quiet.

Gordon wasn’t laughing anymore and the other three men exchanged looks.

And while Castiel had remained quiet, as he had promised, Dean felt him stir not far behind him.

Remembering Castiel’s advice to stay focused, he said, “Gordon, I have what you asked. All I want is my brother back, which was the deal.”

Gordon pursed his lips, turned his gaze on Castiel, and then nodded at one of his goons, who headed into the back room, where Gordon’s office and the small lounge room were.

“While we wait, I’d really like to know who that is. You see, I’m not really a fan of people who drop in unannounced.”

There were many things Dean had wished to answer back, none of which were probably very wise, but before he could open his mouth and say something stupid, one of the two other men still in the room said, “He looks familiar.”

“You know him?” asked Gordon.

Dean’s heart stopped.

“Not sure. But I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

Dean had had to fight down the urge to glance at Castiel for confirmation.

“Since Dean won’t be nice enough to make the introductions, why don’t you tell us about yourself, then?” asked Gordon to Castiel, taking a step to the side so he could get a better look at him.

Silence.

While Dean was busy watching the other two men—one of whom was suspiciously keeping a hand behind his back—he could certainly picture Castiel harboring his classic deadpan expression as a response to Gordon’s request.

“You sure are a sharp looking thing,” said Gordon, staring Castiel up and down. “That’s really interesting company you’re keeping, Dean.”

Finally, the back door opened with the third man dragging Sam behind him.

“Sammy!”

Dean took a step forward, but immediately froze when Gordon lifted his hand as a warning for him to stay put.

“Dean! Dean, I’m—let go—ow!”

Desperate to free himself, Sam had tried to get away from his captor who was mishandling him, which unfortunately only resulted in the third man tightening his hold and shoving him even more harshly.

The man was about twice the size of poor Sam.

“Hey! Watch it, you—” started saying Dean, but the rest of his sentence ended in a gasp as he finally assessed Sam’s state. He was holding his left arm to his chest. The collar of his shirt was ripped. He was limping. He had a cut above his right eye and he appeared to be bruised on his chin as well. “You fucking asshole! What did you do to— _get your hands off of him_!”

Dean took another step, ready to throw himself at them, but was stopped once more.

This time, however, it was by Castiel. He took hold of Dean’s left arm, thus grounding him on his spot.

He still didn’t say anything, but once he knew he had Dean’s attention, he lowered his eyes to the bags.

He then let go of Dean and returned his attention to the group in front of them.

“Well, well, ain’t that interesting?” said Gordon. “What in the hell did I just see?”

Dean, ignoring Gordon, asked his brother, “Are you okay? Sam, what did they do?”

But Sam’s only response was, “I’m sorry. Dean, I—I shouldn’t have—I tried to get away, but—"

“S’okay. Sammy, don’t worry about—”

“Okay, enough of this,” said Gordon, cutting them off. “ _Sammy_ is here. He’s in one piece as promised,” to which Dean clenched his jaw, “so hand over the money.”

“Sam first. Let go of him, then the money.”

“I’m getting tired of this. That wasn’t the deal.”

“Look at him,” snapped Dean. “That wasn’t the deal either, asshole.”

“Watch your tone, Dean.”

“Let go of my brother. _Now_.”

Gordon sighed, glanced at Sam, and then said, “I’m sorry your big bro is an idiot. Steve? Break the kid’s other arm.”

“No! Stop!”

Sam wrestled against his captor and managed to kick him, but one of the other men gripped his broken arm, making him yelped and nearly fall to his knees.

And then everyone froze as Dean tossed the briefcase at Gordon’s feet. It sprung open, revealing a large amount of cash.

Still holding the other bag, Dean said, “That’s the first half of your stupid money.” He slowly opened the bag, emptied its contents on the floor and let the bag fall on top of it.

It wasn’t until that moment that he noticed Castiel was no longer behind him, but was standing to his left.

He couldn’t understand why, but his arm was held at an odd angle.

And staring at the lot facing them, he did not look happy.

“Here. It’s all here,” said Dean. He cautiously extended his left hand towards Sam. “Now, just—let go of him and we’re out of here. Okay?”

Gordon’s eyes shifted from Dean, to the money and Castiel for about a minute, and then, keeping his gaze locked on Castiel, he waved his hand.

At his signal, the two men who were holding Sam instantly let go of him. Sam walked away, not without hesitation, but at a cautious pace, fearing they would only reach out for him once more. He passed by Gordon slowly, and when he was finally within Dean’s grasp, Dean immediately seized his hoodie, and gently pushed Sam behind him, wanting to shield him from any additional harm. And though Sam stayed quiet, Dean felt him clutching on to the side of his jacket as he hid behind him.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he told Gordon in a harsh tone, and slowly backed away towards the exit, giving room for Sam to do the same behind him, while still keeping an eye on the group.

“Likewise,” said Gordon. “Until next time.”

Dean froze.

Sam pulled on Dean’s jacket, trying to bring him away.

But stopped as well when Dean didn’t budge.

“What?”

“Until next time,” repeated Gordon. “Oh, you thought this was a one-time transaction? No. See, Dean, this proved one thing to me: you’re actually very resourceful when given the proper incentive.”

Boiling with panic and anger, Dean felt his hands shape into fists. “Gordon, you said—”

“That’s what you get for stealing from me! It’s not something I take lightly, especially not when the thief gets away with it by crying to some overpaid accountant who thinks they can tell me what to do with my own business.”

Keeping Sam behind him, Dean said, “And I don’t know how many times I fucking have to say it: I didn’t do anything. I had nothing to do with any of this. I never stole your money or—I—none of this is my fault!”

“Then why did you immediately leave? Feels suspicious.”

“Because, you fucking lunatic, you kept insisting I had! Look, I don’t give a shit anymore. Think whatever you want, but I’m telling you, it wasn’t me. Keep thinking it was and all that’s doing is letting the culprit get away with it. All I know is that I did not do this and I’m done. _I’m done_. You have your money and I’m walking out of here and—”

“And what?”

Dean became still as a statue.

Gordon was holding a gun.

He wasn’t pointing it in his direction. He was simply holding it.

But it was enough to make Dean feel the blood drain from his face.

“So, here is what’s going to happen. I don’t care how you got this money, but you’re gonna go back to them, and bring me more. Every week, you’re gonna crawl back here, and give me my dues for having thought you could double cross me, or Sammy is gonna have more broken bones.”

With Sam stirring behind him, Dean felt his throat tightening.

And after studying his expression, Gordon said cheerfully, “See, that’s the thing about you, Dean. You know you’re worthless and you won’t care one second if I threaten you. But the people you care about? You won’t hesitate to throw yourself off a bridge if I tell you it’s the only way to save them. Because you know it’s really the only thing you’re good for.”

“Enough.”

Startled, Dean jolted at the sound of Castiel’s voice. He hadn’t yelled, but his tone had been so firm and raw, it had hit Dean like a punch.

“And he speaks,” said Gordon.

“And I said _enough_.” He stepped in front of Dean. “Put that away before you do something incredibly foolish.”

“You think you can walk in here without an invitation and tell me what to do? I don’t care who you think you are, this is my place, boy. I make the rules around here.”

“Dean, bring Sam back to the car. I’ll be there in a moment. I just need a chat with Mr. Walker.”

“No fucking way I’m walking out of here without you, Cas. I’m not leaving you here, even if for five seconds. Forget it.”

“My heart, boys,” said Gordon. “It’s melting. And _Cas_ , is it? Since you’re about to take a beating, care to tell me how you got roped into all this?”

“Well, Mr. Walker, I can’t say with absolute certainty, but I think it was the moment you decided to become greedy on top of being an idiot.”

Any other day, Dean would have laughed.

Gladly.

Seeing Gordon’s smug face turn into confusion, only to change once more into an expression conveying insult had been priceless.

But Castiel didn’t know Gordon.

And the maniac was still holding a gun.

“What did you just say?”

“All you had to do was to take the money—which was far more than what you deserve—let the brothers go, and pray that no one of real importance ever heard a word of this,” continued Castiel. “Personally, I sincerely doubted that it would be likely. But maybe, had you been smart about it, it could have worked out in your favour. But now…”

“But now, _nothing_ ,” hissed Gordon. “You should watch your mouth. You don’t know me.”

“I do. I know exactly what kind of person you are. The simple fact that compassion is a way for you to exploit people, tells me everything I need to know about you.” He paused, and then, in a grave tone, he added, “And to be frank, I have a major disdain for people like that.”

Gordon took another step.

Castiel opened his palm, and the next thing Dean knew, a silver blade slid down right into his hand, as though Castiel had tucked it into his jacket sleeve.

The long, shiny silver blade was odd. It was sharp and pointy, but not flat like a knife.

Dean had never seen him carrying it before, and yet, he had a feeling it was Castiel’s weapon of choice.

“Cute. But I don’t think it will do much against this.” Gordon lifted his gun.

Castiel, blade in hand, then proceeded in taking off his jacket in a calmly manner, unperturbed by Gordon’s threats.

He folded it, delicately set it aside on a chair near him, and still holding his blade, he tended to his left sleeve’s cufflink.

“Shit.”

One of Gordon’s men had softly cursed, taking a step back.

“What?” asked Gordon. “You scared of an idiot actually rolling his sleeve like he’s in a stupid movie, Reggie?”

“Gordon, I—I just remembered—the blade. I—I know who that is. I know why he looks familiar.”

Silence.

And Castiel was tending to his other sleeve.

“Well, don’t let us hang with suspense. Who is he?”

“He’s Castiel Novak.”

Silence.

The other men did not seem affected by that name.

And judging by Reggie’s reaction, he was extremely worried that they weren’t that distressed by that fact.

“Gordon, look, I—” Reggie swallowed hard, stepping nervously to the side. “I—I think you should just let them go.”

Gordon slowly turned his head. “Do I, now?”

“He—he works for the Garrisons.”

“Everybody does. _You_ work for them,” said Steve.

“No! Listen—I mean, he _works_ for them. Not like we do.”

“How do you know me?” said Castiel.

“My cousin. He—he works for Bartholomew. Last—two summers ago they needed extra hands to help move stuff in the streets and I was there for a time. And then something went wrong.”

Castiel nodded. “Someone had grabby hands. I remember.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything,” asked Gordon, getting impatient.

“As your friend is desperately trying to warn you, I’m one of those the Garrisons send in when they aren’t happy with the results.”

“I saw what happened to the guy who tried to cross Bartholomew…. His hands… And his—he—Gordon, you—I really think you should let them go.”

“Your handy work?” asked Gordon, amused. “And you were trying to give me a lesson about what I did here? It’s the same. I kept him in line,” he added, pointing at Dean.

“Even though Dean has continually repeated that he had nothing to do with the incident, nor do you have any proof implicating him.” He twisted the blade in his hand. “And I can assure you, whatever I have done, harming a minor—to my personal gain, no less—has never been on my list of accomplishments, nor will it ever be.”

The other men exchanged anxious looks between them. Reggie was subtly directing himself towards the back door, while the other two were stepping forward.

But Gordon had not moved one muscle.

And while his smirk had disappeared, it seemed to have been exchanged for a look of anger. Not just annoyed.

But truly furious.

“Now that you know who I am," said Castiel, "I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Dean, Sam and I will walk out that door. We’ll never come back and you won’t hear from us again. You, in return, will never talk, harass, or mean any harm—physically or psychologically—to either of them, their family members, or friends, ever again. They don’t exist anymore. As far as you know, you’ve never heard of Dean before. And because you behaved so carelessly and are in a dire need of a reality check about how things are done around here, we will leave with the money. You get nothing. Which won’t be a big loss as you weren’t supposed to have anything, anyway.” Gordon took a step forward. “And before you protest, let me just tell you that, in the long run, I’m probably doing you a favour with that one. You were instructed to leave Dean alone. You didn’t. You were given back most of what was stolen from you, which was extremely lucky considering whom you have to answer to. And you still weren’t happy. And then you managed to extort a significant amount of money that you had no rights to, and you still demanded more. As I said before, you’ll be lucky if no one ever hears of this.”

“And if I say no? There’s still four of us.”

Castiel sighed.

“Then you’re even more stupid than I thought.”

And then, all hell broke loose.

As Gordon launched himself at Castiel, lifting his gun to him, Castiel immediately gripped his wrist and twisted it to the side, making Gordon scream. His hold on the weapon loosened, and the moment the gun fell to the ground, Castiel punched him hard on his chest causing Gordon to step back as he gasped for air.

Dean barely had time to register what had happened before the other three men swooped in on Castiel. One was holding a crowbar, one was clutching Castiel’s arms, trying to push him down, and the other was reaching out for the gun.

Just as Dean was about to leave Sam’s side to help him, he got to watch, with stupefaction, the spectacle of Castiel toss around all three men as swiftly as though they were paper dolls.

One by one.

And once he was back on his feet, asking for more, Gordon let out a shriek of terror when Castiel stabbed him in the dead center of his right hand with his blade.

His entire blade had been pushed in and Dean was sure that once Castiel would remove it, it would leave a hole so large, they would most likely be able to see through it.

Then, out of nowhere, one man jumped on Castiel, seized both of his arms, while another lifted his fist to strike him full blow in his face.

But Castiel freed himself with sharp and quick moves, and retaliated with heavy punches to the ribs. Abruptly turning limbs. Bringing them to their knees.

Bones cracked.

Screams were heard.

Half-horrified and half-mesmerized by the scene unfolding before him, Dean couldn’t do anything but stare.

With Gordon whimpering on the floor, one man lying unconscious, and the other two having difficulty standing up and gasping for air, Castiel unhurriedly fetched the gun, unloaded it, and dropped it in the backpack, which he began to fill with the money scattered on the ground.

He handed the bag to Dean and, still holding his blade, he reached for the case as well.

His expression had remained the same. He hadn’t broken a sweat. And he nodded at Dean to head towards the door.

But before they could, Gordon clutched onto Castiel’s foot with his uninjured hand.

“You—you’ll pay for this,” cried out Gordon.

Castiel sighed, squatted beside him, and sunk the tip of his blade into his collarbone. Not deeply, barely enough to pierce his skin and make him bleed.

But Gordon still let out a groan.

“If I ever hear you went near them again—so much as glanced in their direction—I’ll do more than just inflict you with some pitiful flesh wounds and break your bones. You’ll be begging me to come back to that. Am I clear?”

Gordon pursed his lips.

Castiel slightly pressed the blade downwards.

“You fucking—”

“Am I clear? Or do you prefer I directly stick this into your neck and save us all a lot of trouble right now?”

“Stop. No—I—”

“Am. I. Clear?”

“Yes. Stop—yes. Yes, it’s clear. I’ll leave them be.”

Castiel held his blade in the same position for a few seconds more, then he stood up and let go of him. After he casually retrieved his jacket, with his blade and case in hand, he said as a last warning, “And don’t think I won’t be paying attention. I will.”

Tugging Sam along with him as delicately as he could, while making sure Castiel was following them, Dean filled his lungs with fresh air as they hurried through the garage parking lot.

“Cas? You okay? Sammy? How’s your arm?”

Silence.

“Guys?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” said Castiel.

Glimpsing at him, he appeared to be so.

But still nothing from Sam.

In fact, now that Dean was thinking about it, Sam hadn’t uttered a single sound since he had reached his side.

“Sammy?”

Despite his hasty pace, Dean came to halt and took a second to finally examine his brother.

“Dean, we should move,” said Castiel.

“I know, I just—Sam?”

“I’m fine. I—I—”

“Did—did they hurt you somewhere else? What did they do?”

Dean was terrified of the answer.

“No, I’m okay. Well, no…but I—I—”

“What is it?”

Sam bit his lips and his eyes turned to Castiel.

The last thing Dean needed was for Sam to be terrified of Castiel.

“Cas is a friend, Sam. I promise he won’t hurt you. No one is ever fucking going to hurt you. I’m—I’m so sorry this happened,” said Dean, feeling his voice breaking. “I’m sorry. That was my fault. I was supposed to protect you and I—I can’t believe I let this happen….”

Sam shook his head.

“You didn’t,” he told Dean. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.” Dean frowned as he watched Sam lowering his eyes to the ground. “The only reason why Gordon caught me was because I…I sneaked out of the apartment. I shouldn’t have. And I only did because I—I was mad that you just kept to yourself and I—it was so stupid.”

And with this, the other side of this whole ordeal hit Dean like a punch.

Not only had he neglected Sam, but Samuel as well.

With both grandsons in the wind, their grandfather must have been beside himself.

In an infuriated manner, no doubt.

Dean wasn’t particularly looking forward to the _conversation_ awaiting them back home.

“Sam, none of this was your fault, okay?”

“But—”

“No. No buts. Okay?”

There was a pause, and then Sam said softly, “Okay.”

“Now, before I go completely insane, please tell me how you are feeling? How’s your arm? Did they hurt you anywhere else?”

“No. Just my arm. Other than that…it’s just…it’s nothing.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. They just—” Sam let out a gasp. He stopped dead on his spot. “Dean, it’s—it’s the…”

It took Dean a second to realize what Sam was babbling about.

They had now reached the edge of the parking lot and were heading towards the car.

_The car._

“Dean…but it’s—how—”

“I know. I’ll explain later, okay? Come on, I really want us to get the hell out of here.” He opened the back door to let Sam in and dropped the backpack next to him. Once Sam was safely aboard the Impala, Dean felt the tension lessen in his shoulders.

He turned around and found Castiel standing next to him. Under this light, he seemed exhausted. His posture was different. And Dean noticed a tremor in one of his hands.

“Cas? How are you, really?” he asked, concerned.

“I’ll be fine.”

That wasn’t as reassuring as Dean would have liked.

“What do we do now? Sam needs help with his arm and going to a hospital is a bad idea.”

“I wouldn’t advise it, no. Even if we could come up with a good excuse for his injuries—and why we waited until now to rush to the hospital—he’s also a minor.”

Dean rubbed his face with his hands. 

“I know a place. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best option at this hour.”

“Cas, no—I can’t ask for another favour.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered.”

He gave him a faint smile and opened the door.

During their short drive, Sam recounted in detail his night to Dean and Castiel.

Sam, a scrawny fifteen-year-old, had tried to fight off four grown men who snatched him off the street like it had been nothing.

Dean felt his stomach turn again when he thought of what else could have happened.

And how _easy_ it had been for them to do it.

Dr. Robert, Castiel’s friend, had accepted to tend to Sam, but having never met either of the brothers, he wasn’t too thrilled about letting them into his practice when they arrived out of the blue. As Castiel explained to Dean, he only trusted the people he knew, and he made a point of not knowing too many people.

In the end, Dean agreed to remain out of the practice, if Sam could go in with Castiel.

Letting Sam out of his sight was not something Dean was eager to do. But knowing Castiel would be there was enough for him.

So, pacing next to the Impala, Dean had nothing to do but agonize over what he would tell Samuel that could explain Sam’s injuries and why they had both ignored his calls. He couldn’t know from Sam’s phone, but after checking his cell for the first time since Gordon’s call, Dean had no less than twenty-three missed calls.

All from Samuel.

And yet, dealing with Samuel wasn’t Dean’s only headache.

He would have to explain a lot of things to Sam, too. He knew his brother would be smart about it and wouldn’t blab. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that, because of his actions, something unthinkable nearly had happened to him, and if it hadn’t been for Castiel, Dean didn’t dare think where either of them would be right about now.

And then there was _Castiel_.

Dean had no words to express how indebted he was to him.

He owed him everything. No one had ever come through for him like he had on that night. No one.

And Dean would never forget it.

He couldn’t.

Which, in a way, complicated their situation even more.

Even if Castiel hadn’t come to his aid simply because he was the decent person Dean knew him to be, Dean wasn’t arrogant enough to expect that this night would solve anything.

He was still accountable for his embarrassing behavior and he had no idea where to go from there. The events of the night had been too much to process everything all at once. Sam. Gordon. Castiel. The money. Baby.

And the only thought in that moment that kept him sane was that Sam was safe.

That they were all safe now.

The door finally opened, with Sam and Castiel stepping out of the private practice.

Dr. Robert quickly explained that after a thorough examination, which included an x-ray, he concluded that Sam would be fine with a splint. No surgery was needed, but that they should come back for a follow-up in a few weeks, or earlier should Sam’s discomfort increase.

He also informed him that he had administered a mild sedative to Sam for the pain.

Which explained Sam’s funny, dopey face.

Dean thanked Dr. Robert and asked how he could repay him, to which, of course, he answered, “No worries. Mr. Novak already took care of that.”

With all three of them back in the car, ready to put this night behind them, Castiel and Dean agreed that the next step should be to return the money. Having that amount of cash with them rendered Dean extremely paranoid.

Once that was dealt with, standing in front of Orlando’s Emporium, Castiel insisted that Dean bring Sam back home with the Impala, while he would head to his part of town with an Uber.

Somehow, this sounded wrong to Dean.

“I can’t do that. It’s your car.”

Castiel handed him back the keys. “And you know where to bring it back.”

Dean shook his head.

“How about we drive you home, first?” Realizing it would only delay their already scandalously late return back home, he then added, “Or—or we’ll pass by my place, it's not that far and—and—”

And what? Ask Castiel to wait in the car while he gets Sam home? Invite him in to meet Samuel?

That would be the day.

“I think this is the part of the evening when we have to go our separate ways,” said Castiel calmly. “We’ve—better not chance more than what we’ve done.”

Understanding his reasoning, Dean still didn’t like it. Especially not when he gathered that Castiel wasn’t solely referring to tonight’s events.

Not wishing to dwell on that dark thought for too long, he returned to the topic of the car and argued that he and Sam could walk home.

"It's just a few streets away."

Castiel’s eyes fell on Sam who was resting his head against the window in the back seat and with his eyes shut. “Drive him home, Dean. I’ll be fine.”

They stared at each other for a long minute, while neither of them moved.

“Thank you. For everything.”

With his look softening, Castiel nodded at him.

“You’re welcome.”

Their return home occurred as well as expected.

The story the brothers had settled to tell their grandfather had been rather close to the truth.

Which Dean knew was always a good place to start.

Namely, Sam had sneaked out of the apartment because he had been mad at Dean, had ran into trouble, had called Dean from work to come to his aid, and Dean had found him like this.

And then they had spent the rest of the evening waiting at the hospital.

Of course, none of this explained why they had ignored Samuel’s calls, and their grandfather didn’t lose the opportunity to point out that detail. Dean’s only response was that his phone had died and then showed him Sam’s broken phone.

Were those the most convincing arguments?

No.

But Dean figured that it was better than to say that it had slipped his mind.

Samuel was furious. Livid. He asked a dozen questions, gave no time for Dean to answer and asked a dozen more.

And Sam’s mild grogginess—and injuries—didn’t help their case.

It took some time, but eventually, mostly due to exhaustion after a long rant, Samuel had had enough and sent them both to their room.

Dean knew the worst was yet to come, but for now, he was grateful that Samuel had considered Sam’s state and concluded, like him, that the poor kid just needed some sleep instead of a lecture.

Sam passed out the moment his head hit the pillow and Dean was relieved by that fact. He knew Samuel wouldn’t be the only one asking questions the next day. But at least, Dean had gained a short respite for the rest of the night before talking to Sam, too.

And now that they were home, that Sam was safe in his bed, there was only one thing—one person—that was now occupying his thoughts.

And the urge to do something about it was making him want to climb the walls.

Aware that sneaking out was ill-advised in that instant, Dean couldn’t help contemplating the idea.

He glanced at Sam, snoring loudly, and then slid open his bedroom window.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Dean purposely stared at the door’s peephole so Castiel would know it was him after he finally knocked.

Slow footsteps approached the door.

There was a pause.

The lock turned and the door swung open, revealing Castiel surprised to see Dean at his doorstep. He hurriedly let him in, and after a quick glance into the hallway, he shut the door behind them.

Castiel was wearing pajama pants and a thin housecoat with no shirt underneath.

A bottle of vodka and with an old-fashioned glass rested on the kitchen island.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel asked, stunned.

“I wanted to return this to you,” he said, handing him the keys. “I brought back the car, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“I told you it wasn’t urgent,” said Castiel, nearly aggravated. He seized the keys and tossed them on the counter next to his drink.

“I know. But I—I wanted to do it. I didn’t want to leave the car— _that car_ —unattended. She’s back where she should be.”

There was a pause, and then Castiel said, “You still didn’t have to make a massive detour to give me back the keys in the middle of the night, Dean.”

He lowered his eyes, and said, “I wanted to see you. I—I know I should have waited, but I—I needed to thank you.”

“You already did.”

“Not enough. You—you don’t understand what that meant to me.” Taking a few steps, Dean reached for Castiel’s hands. “What you did tonight… I—after everything, I didn’t deserve your help and you saved Sam anyway. You saved us.” They locked eyes. “Thank you.”

Dean wrapped his arms around him, and hugged him tightly. “Thank you,” he repeated, whispering.

Not letting go of him, Dean then felt Castiel’s arms finally hugging him back. Instant relief spread throughout Dean’s chest at Castiel’s comforting touch. Burying his face into his shoulder, Dean breathed in his smell.

Pressed against him, Dean shifted on his feet and lowered his hands to Castiel’s lower back.

And although he remained silent, Castiel then tightened his hold, which made Dean’s heart jump.

And then, slowly, the hug turned into something else entirely. Dean mildly moved his hips against him and began kissing his neck. Caressing Dean’s shoulders, Castiel, like him, rolled his hips, pressing his crotch against his.

And faintly moaned in Dean’s ear.

As he ran his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Feeling his heartbeat increase, Dean said softly, “Maybe I should thank you properly. Show you how really grateful I am.” And licking his neck, Dean smoothly slid his hand inside Castiel’s briefs.

But the outcome of his words wasn’t the one Dean had hoped for.

Castiel immediately pushed his hand away and turned his back to him, rushing to the kitchen island.

Confused, Dean remained on his spot.

“Cas, what—”

“Please, leave.” He grabbed the rest of his drink and gulped it down.

Not understanding what had just happened, Dean said, “Cas, I’m—if it’s about the other night, I’m sorry. I know I was—”

“It’s about what you just said. About what you just did.”

Dean felt his stomach drop. “But you—what do you mean? I just wanted to thank you—”

“Exactly,” said Castiel, with a grim look on his face. “Is this why you came here? Because you feel like you owe me?”

“I—yes, but not—not like, I just wanted to repay—I mean, I want—”

“To repay me. That’s what you wanted to say.”

“Not—I didn’t mean like that—”

“Like how then?”

Dean swallowed.

Castiel took a deep sigh and lowered his head. “Well, now that this is clear, thank you for the keys, Dean.” He grabbed the bottle of vodka. “Please, see yourself out.”

And he took a sip directly from the bottle, turned on his heels, and exited onto his balcony.

And so, for the second time, Dean left Castiel’s apartment filled with regrets and with a heavy heart.


	8. Chapter Eight: Damage Control

The morning light had arrived, bringing along the noise of the city rumpus caused by traffic and the like, much to Dean’s annoyance.

He hadn’t slept a wink. His entire body ached. His soul was tired. The idea of never leaving his bed again was incredibly appealing to him. If he stayed there, then perhaps he would stop acting like an idiot and his problems would undoubtedly end, too.

He sighed and turned himself on his side.

On the bed next to his, Sam was still sound asleep, looking exactly how Dean had found him on his return.

As Dean lay there, dreading the hard day that was awaiting him, he heard voices coming from down the hall.

Frowning, he slowly hoisted himself on his elbow and listened carefully. But he couldn’t discern the words.

Unable to recall the last time his grandfather had had a visitor, Dean was puzzled. He glanced at Sam, and once he assessed that he was still sleeping, he slowly climbed out of bed and tiptoed his way down the hallway.

“I’m not sure until when. I should be good to extend it until the summer,” said Samuel. “I’m trying to not do anything until Sam has finished his school year.”

Dean blinked.

“All right. Either way, there’s really no harm done.”

Not recognizing the second voice, Dean slid himself a little closer, while remaining out of sight. Carefully peeking into the kitchen, he could only see his grandfather sitting at the table.

“And what if it… what if I need this to happen earlier than that?” asked Samuel. “After what happened yesterday…”

“You’re thinking more and more that it’s a good idea.”

“Yes. I’m just not sure how I’ll make it work.”

“You will. You have so far. Just keep me in the loop. Especially if you change your mind.” There was a pause, and then the other man said, "Here. I'll leave this for you. All the necessary information is there. Call him. Maybe he'll change your mind."

Samuel picked up what looked like a business card. He studied it a moment, and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "Thank you." 

There was a long minute of silence, during which both men drank they coffee, until Samuel said, "I heard what happened last week with the Walshes."

"You heard that, huh?"

"Here and there. There will always be players on the board, but...that seemed..."

"Different? Yeah. She's a piece of work, that Hess."

Officially uncomfortable about eavesdropping, Dean turned the corner and stepped into the kitchen, knowing full well that it would mean facing his grandfather, and therefore, suffering his tirade.

A man wearing a sharp suit was seated at the table, sipping a cup of coffee with his grandfather.

The man nearly gasped when he noticed Dean. He dropped his cup on the table and stared at Dean, smiling.

“Holy crap. You, Dean?”

Dean nodded.

The man whistled. “They really grow like weeds,” he told Samuel. “Morning. I’m Isaac. You probably don’t remember me, but I used to live across the street.”

Dean’s eyes fell on Samuel.

“That was a long time ago. His wife owned the pharmacy,” added his grandfather.

Dean didn’t remember Isaac, but he remembered the pharmacy.

More specifically, he remembered that it had burned down a few months after he and Sam had arrived.

“Sounds familiar.”

“Isaac started working for the D. A. and he and his wife moved to a different part of the city after that.”

Dean had no problem believing this. Moving out of the neighborhood was a standard desire around here. Incident or not.

Isaac took a few more seconds to study Dean and then turned towards Samuel, as he lifted himself off his chair.

“I should get going.”

“Thanks for stopping by. You didn’t have to do that,” said Samuel.

“No problem. It was nice seeing you.” He looked at Dean one last time and said, “You both take care, all right? Sam, too.”

“What was that about?” asked Dean, once Isaac disappeared behind the front door.

“How much of it did you hear?”

“What’s going on?” asked Dean, ignoring his question. “Who’s Isaac? Why was he here?”

“What? Can’t have friends over?”

Dean made a face.

Sighing, Samuel reached for Isaac’s cup and brought it to the counter. He took another one from the cupboard and signaled Dean to take a seat at the table as he poured him a cup of coffee. “Let’s talk.”

And there it was.

Aware that Samuel’s follow up lecturing was about to take place. And given that he had been rather tame on them the night before, Dean wasn’t sure what to expect this time around.

It was true that Samuel had used his “angry” voice. He always did. But it hadn’t been the earful that Dean was usually subjected to.

Bracing himself, Dean took his seat at the table.

“Look, Dean…I know it’s not like I can ground you anymore,” said Samuel, pushing the cup towards him as he took his seat back. “There are limits to what I can do. And even though I think you could definitely check your tone once in a while,” to which Dean had to bite his lips to not answer back, “I know you do your best and you would never do something to purposely harm Sam.”

The room turned cold.

“What happened yesterday—”

“Was an accident,” said Samuel, cutting him off. “Yes. I know. You told me.” He pursed his lips and shot a stern look at him. “I will have my talk with Sam about that, alone, later this afternoon. As I ought to.”

And while Dean didn’t like, he nodded, knowing full well that Samuel was in the right to do so. After all, nothing stopped Dean to have his own chat with Sam, either. And if Samuel would dissuade Sam from sneaking out again, Dean was all for it.

“But for now, I need to have a discussion with you,” said Samuel.

Shifting on his seat, Dean anxiously reviewed a few explanations that could potentially get him—and Sam—out of this mess, and braced himself for the thorough interrogation that Samuel was famous for.

But his grandfather’s first question was not at all what Dean had anticipated.

“Do you remember what happened to the pharmacy?”

Dean frowned.

“What?”

“The pharmacy across the street. The one Isaac’s wife owned.”

Feeling like this was a trap, Dean paused a moment, studying his grandfather’s eyes, but then when it seemed that he was asking him a serious question, Dean nodded.

“I don’t remember much. Just that it burned down.”

Samuel, with a grim look, nodded.

“Do you know why?”

He had no idea. Up until five seconds ago, he would have blamed it on bad wiring. Someone had left a burner open in the apartment. A gas leak.

Something told Dean that Samuel wouldn’t be telling him that specific story right about now if that had been the case.

He shook his head.

“The official story is that it was the work of random vandalism. Never found who did it. Never had one witness. And it’s the only place that got vandalized in the whole street.”

So, not random, thought Dean. It was no wonder then, why Isaac and his wife had changed neighborhoods after that.

“Do you remember anything else about it?” asked Samuel.

“I—I really don’t. Just that it happened not long after we got here.”

Samuel took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.

“It happened in the middle of the night, when all the shops were closed and everyone was asleep,” he told him. “The fire spread fast. Isaac and his wife, Tamara, were really lucky to walk out of there in one piece. But their little girl didn’t.”

Dean’s heart stopped. He stared at Samuel, convinced he had misunderstood him.

“You really don’t remember, do you?”

No. He really didn't. He had no memory of this whatsoever. And it baffled him.

Being hazy on the details about a fire that occurred many years ago was one thing.

But completely forgetting a massive tragedy in the neighborhood, involving the death of child, of all things, was another.

Dean couldn’t understand how in the world he could have forgotten this.

He may have been a child himself at the time, but there was no way it wouldn’t have reached his ears somehow.

As though Samuel was following his thought process, he then said, “You were right about it happening shortly after you and Sam arrived here. It was weeks after you got here. Not even a month after that. I never could decide if that was a weird upside to this.” Dean frowned at him again, completely lost. “I’m not saying it didn’t faze you, but you had a lot on your mind already. Your plate was full and there was no room for anything else at that point.”

“You’re saying I ignored it? Or just…repressed it?”

“Maybe.”

Dean was now officially bothered by this discussion. Considering the possibilities Samuel had just laid out for him, it made Dean feel like he was either self-centered or crazy.

“Why are you telling me this, Samuel?”

“I’m telling you this because of what happened yesterday. Because of your new job. I want both of you boys to be smart about things. And I just hope you’re being careful.”

While Dean was under no illusion that Samuel had entirely bought his lie about his second job, he hadn’t suspected that his grandfather _knew_ what the job consisted of.

Fearing to incriminate himself, Dean said, “What do you mean?”

Samuel sighed deeply. “Dean, I know you’ve stuck out your neck to help us—to help Sam’s future—but I just don’t want either of you to do the extra mile that could end up costing you far more than what you initially believed. Just…don’t get yourself too deep before you can’t back out.”

He opened his mouth as though he was about to add something else, but then shut it, having changed his mind.

Dean took a moment to weigh his words. Since Samuel’s comment had been rather vague with no mention of the Garrisons per se, Dean decided that he should follow his lead on that matter.

But playing dumb was evidently pointless and it would solve nothing.

“If I was to turn to other options than the _restaurant_ ,” he said cautiously, “I—I’m not sure we’d be able to keep the business.”

“Then we lose it.”

Dean blinked. He had said it in such a matter-of-fact way.

“That’s not what I want,” said Samuel. “But believe it or not, that was never on you, kid.”

And with that, he stood up, brought his empty cup to the sink and retrieved his keys from the bowl next to the microwave. “I’ll go open up downstairs. You boys join me as soon as you’ve eaten breakfast.”

And just before he was about to open the door, he turned and said, “I know I’m not the most mellow of grandfathers, but Dean, I’m just trying to keep you both in one piece.”

“There’s only one you need to focus on.”

“That responsibility, just for the record, never has an expiry date. Doesn’t matter the age. Or if they have children of their own. And despite last night’s _accident_ , Sam isn’t the one I’m truly worried about right now." 

And then he exited the apartment and Dean had to digest the fact that his grandfather had actually said something truly caring.

With Samuel gone, Dean decided to go check on Sam before starting breakfast, and found him finally awake.

He was still in bed under the bed covers, but his eyes were wide open and his back was leaning against the headboard.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” Dean sat at the foot of his bed, after Sam moved his feet to give him room.

“Okay.”

“Does it hurt a lot? The doc gave us some pain killers if you need it.”

Sam lowered his eyes and shook his head. “I think I’m okay for now. I’ll—I’ll wait and see.”

“You’re allowed to take them, Sam, if it hurts. No need to endure it for nothing.”

“I know. But I’m okay.” He played with the edge of his sheets with his uninjured hand and finally looked at Dean after saying, “Is Grandpa up already? Is he—he must be really mad, still?”

“He just left. And he, um, is not thrilled. But I don’t know…”

“What?”

“He’s mad, but…I think we freaked him out. There’s probably a massive lecture waiting for you downstairs, make no mistake, but I think this time it’s different.”

Sam lowered his eyes again and fell silent.

Dean waited a moment, wanting to see if Sam would bring up the subject on his own, but once it was clear that he wouldn’t, even though he knew it wouldn’t be pleasant, Dean moved himself a little closer to him, and said, “Sam, about last night…with everything that happened, we didn’t really talk. You must have a lot of questions.”

Sam gave a small shrug.

“There is a lot I feel like I need to explain. I—I’m just not sure where to begin and what I—I should say.”

“You mean which part you’ll lie about?”

Dean opened his mouth and shut it again.

At Dean’s hesitation, Sam said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“S’okay. I kinda deserved it.” He sighed and repositioned himself. “I do omit certain things, which totally counts as lying. But it’s—do you believe me if I say it’s because I want to protect you?”

Sam nodded.

“I don’t like lying, so I really try to not do it if I don’t have to. But I—”

“It’s necessary sometimes. I get it.”

Dean took a moment to ponder on the matter, and then said, “What if, from now on, I tell you what I can, and if it’s something I know I shouldn’t, I just tell you exactly that: that I can’t tell you. Instead of just pretending or making up something. You still won’t know what it is, but at least, I won’t feel like a jerk and you won’t feel like I’m excluding you or—you know?”

“I don’t think you’re excluding me,” he said defensively.

“Then, why did you sneak out of the apartment last night? I thought you said you had done so because you were mad at me. Because I—I made you feel like I was bailing on you.”

With his eyes glued to his hands, Sam answered, “That wasn't even—what I'm angry—it was stupid of me to say that. It was even more stupid to do it, too.”

“Sam, like, honestly, about sneaking out, I’m not one to talk. Okay? No judgement on that part. Promise. And what happened afterwards, it had nothing to do with you. You know that, right? But for you to sneak out, you must have been really frustrated with me. I—just, can you tell me why?”

“It’s nothing in particular.”

“What is it?”

“I—I just…you never say anything.”

“I—like I said, I’ll try to say more about the job, but—”

“No, I don’t mean that,” he said, sighing while repositioning himself so he could sit next to Dean at the edge of the bed. “I mean, okay, I’d like to know more about that too because I don’t really know much, but that’s—that’s kind of the point.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t say anything anymore,” he repeated. “Not just about your new job, but about _anything_. You mumble your way at the shop and here too during dinner. It was bad before, but now…You’re here, but not really. You still don’t go out. And when we hang out, you ask me about school and other things, but _you never say anything about yourself_. I almost thought—”

And then he stopped talking.

“You thought what?”

“I—some things don’t add up with your work at the restaurant. I don’t care. At first, I thought it was because you were seeing someone. Which would have explained the late nights and sneaking out. And—but…anyway. Yesterday was the twenty-fifth of April and you just left without a word again. So, I—I decided to check out if you really were just going to work.”

“What does the twenty-fifth of April have anything to do with this?”

“It’s kind of important.”

“It’s the day after the twenty-fourth?” tried Dean.

“The twenty-fifth of April means that my birthday is in a week. I’ll be sixteen. Which means—”

“You could go for your written driving test,” said Dean, remembering.

“I know you were busy and there’s still time left, but you said you’d help me study last month…”

“…And I didn’t.”

And there it was. Once again, evidence that Dean had neglected Sam.

And he felt absolutely fucking awful.

“Shit, Sam. I—I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you say anything? Not that I’m saying that it was up to you to remind me, but—why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I did. Like, not all the time, but I must have mentioned it to you at least twice a week. You’d always tell me we’d get on that soon, but we never did. You always seemed preoccupied and I didn’t want to bug you…”

“Sam, no. I—I suck. I’m so sorry about that. Well, I’m sorry about a lot of things, but I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been…preoccupied with—I’ve been very bad at managing everything at once. I feel terrible that you thought I didn’t care or—the point is that I’ll try to do better. And in return, don’t be shy to tell me if I mess up again, okay? I’m hoping I won’t, but you know? And a driving test! I can’t believe we’re here! This is awesome! Are you looking forward to it?”

“I am. But I—I really don’t want to fail. I’m not like you with cars…and with everything…I was hoping to go on my birthday, but I don’t think it’s going to be possible now.”

“What? Why? Sam, it’s all theory, at first, which you excel in everything. I _promise_ to help you every day if you want and I’m sure by next Saturday you’ll be ready. How does that sound?”

“Um, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“That I will probably be grounded for the rest of my life now?”

Dean opened his mouth, stunned that he had indeed momentarily forgotten that detail.

“How about you don’t worry about that for now, focus on studying and I’ll try my best to convince Samuel to make an exception. Just for Saturday.”

“You trying to convince Grandpa? Yeah, no offense, but I’m pretty sure I know how that’s gonna turn out.”

“Listen, smartass, I’m gonna try. I promise to do everything in my power to get you there. Including helping you study. How about that?”

“Even like practice exams and study sessions?”

“If that’s what you want, then, yes. Although, I really think you’ll get it pretty fast.”

“I don’t know,” said Sam rather grimly. “I started studying last month…I feel like there’s so much to remember.”

“You’ll be ready. Promise.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

Glad that this had been taken care of, Dean took a deep breath, knowing that the hard part of the conversation was still to come.

“So, um, with all this, we haven’t really talked about what happened yesterday.”

“I’m okay, Dean.”

“I’m really glad to hear that, but you’re allowed to not be fine, Sam. That was really messed up. And I—like I said before, I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“About Gordon or…other things?”

“Ask me anything. I’ll try to answer as best I can.”

There was a short pause, and then Sam said, “Who’s Cas?”

Dean felt a pang in his chest.

Not only would he have to lie to Sam on the very first question he had asked him, but answering that specific question was painful for Dean to do.

“He—he’s a friend.”

“I never heard of him before.”

Dean quickly debated if he should tell Sam that Castiel was the co-worker he had previously referred to as Jimmy, but decided against it.

“I haven’t known him for long, that’s why.”

It was Dean’s turn to be lowering his eyes to avoid his brother’s stare.

“How did you meet?”

Dean bit his lips. “We work together.”

“At the…restaurant?”

Dean glanced at Sam for a few seconds. “Exactly.”

Sam nodded and pondered on the information.

A lot had been said the night before, and while some parts might have passed way over Sam’s head, Dean gathered that other parts would be difficult for him to forget.

Such as a demonstration of Castiel’s skills, Dean carrying an exceedingly large amount of money, and the mention of the Garrison family.

“Anything else you want to ask?”

“What about the car?”

Leaning his head backwards, Dean smiled.

“Was it Baby or just a car that looked like it?”

“Nope. That’s really her. I checked and our initials are still there.”

“Really?” said Sam, astonished. “But Dean, how? How did you find it? How did you buy it?”

“Oh, I didn’t buy it. It’s not mine.”

“But—but you were driving it.”

“Right. Um, it—it still isn’t mine. It’s Castiel’s, actually.”

“Is it? But how—what did he say when you told him?”

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Why not?”

“I—I’m not sure. I wanted to, but it just hasn’t happened yet.”

And now Dean was doubtful he would ever have the opportunity to do so.

“Sam? Can I ask you for a favour? Can you—is it okay if I ask you to keep that to yourself?”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about Gordon to Grandpa, Dean.”

“I—okay, that—that’s good. Thank you. But, um, I—right now, I was actually talking about the car. And Cas.”

Sam frowned. “I won’t say anything. Why though?”

After clearing his throat, Dean said, “The car has always been a sore subject between Samuel and me ever since he…”

“…sold it.”

“Yeah. I—I really don’t want to start anything. And more importantly, if I mention the car, I’ll have to explain who Cas is and that will bring on the subject of work and I—”

“It’s okay, Dean. I get it. I promise I won’t say anything to Samuel. About the car, Cas or anything that happened yesterday.” Sam breathed deeply. “What am I supposed to say though? What happened when we came back home last night?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not much. I remember we left the doctor’s office and I don’t remember much after that.”

Which reminded Dean of something else. “How was the doctor by the way? Was he nice? Sorry I couldn’t get in with you.”

“I just had x-rays and got a splint. I’m not five.”

“You know what I mean, Sam.”

“I know. But it was fine. The doctor wasn’t the one who scared me.”

Please, don’t say it was Castiel, thought Dean.

“And Cas was there, too. He’s really nice. I like him.”

“Yeah?” Relief spread throughout Dean’s body.

“He asked about school and when I told him my favourite subject was English, he asked which books I loved, and then we got into talking and he gave me a bunch of titles that I had never heard of. They all sounded amazing, so he wrote them down for me,” he said, pointing at a piece of paper on the nightstand.

Considering the amount of books Castiel had in his apartment, Dean wasn’t surprised by that fact.

“I think he was trying to distract me while the doctor was tending to my arm,” said Sam. “That or he wanted me to feel better after…anyway. He was nice.” He took a deep breath. “And, um, that’s the last thing I remember.”

Dean explained quickly to Sam the version of the facts he had recounted to Samuel.

“I made it sound like it was random jerks who cornered you. Pretty sure he bought it, but he will definitely ask you questions.”

“And, um, what do you think he’ll do in terms of punishment?”

Dean let out a short laugh. “Expect a limited access to the internet and you’ll have to head to the shop straight from school for a while.”

Sam sighed, as he nodded.

“It will be okay, Sammy. I think, like I said, he was just really worried. Any other questions?”

“Not right now, no. Can I ask later if I think of something?”

“Of course.”

The following week was tense, to say the least.

While they doubted that Sam would run off any time soon, both Samuel and Dean didn’t want him out of their sights.

Samuel had been fair to Sam in his punishment and Sam had taken it with no complaints.

Samuel had also made no additional comment regarding the conversation he and Dean had shared, which somehow only doubled Dean’s anxiety.

And while there had been no fighting, there had been an undeniable change of vibe at home. Everyone was on their best behavior, but not for the right reasons.

The tension was high and Dean was worried about what would happen when one of them would finally explode.

But his home wasn’t the only worry occupying his mind.

Two nights after the whole ordeal with Gordon had happened, Dean showed up for the weekly report at _The Gates_ , as always.

He expected the worst.

Retribution for having broken the rules.

For what had happened to Gordon.

But nothing. Not a snag.

No mention of the incident.

Or of him and Castiel.

There had been this moment at the end of their briefing though, when Dean could have sworn there had been a hint of hesitation on Zachariah’s part just before he had dismissed them.

But since nothing had come of it, Dean hoped it had been all in his head.

And that had been that.

Nevertheless, Dean feared that the issue might resurface due to Gordon’s stubbornness.

He spent the days checking his phone, anticipating the urgent request to present himself at _The_ _Gates_.

But nothing happened. No phone calls or cryptic text messages. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Just the regular text sent to him on Tuesday morning, with the time and location for a job.

Which had gone smoothly.

The same could not be said about Castiel and Dean, however.

They were courteous and kept the talking to a bare minimum, as they both wanted to avoid any additional inconvenience.

And at the end of the night, just before he was about to leave the car, Castiel inquired of Sam’s well-being, to which Dean assured him that he was perfectly fine, thanks to Castiel.

There was far more that Dean had wished to say, but he kept his mouth shut, worried he would simply repeat his faux-pas of their previous night.

Castiel nodded at him firmly, and without further ado, he climbed out of the car, leaving no chance for Dean to say anything else.

Convinced that he had ruined everything between them once and for all, Dean felt lousy for the rest of the evening.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to endure that discomfort for much longer because, on their next shift, which was on Thursday, they found themselves in trouble again.

In a nice neighborhood, Dean was waiting in the car, parked three houses away from the one Castiel had entered, half an hour earlier.

He cautiously watched the street, and while there wasn’t any suspicious activity, Dean couldn’t shake that awful gut-feeling that something wasn’t right.

But since nothing was out of the ordinary, and Castiel had warned him that his stop would last longer than usual, he tried to stay positive and simply wait it out.

He fidgeted in his seat. He took note of the houses that still had their lights on.

And then, just as his eyes turned to the side-view mirror to his left, he noticed something was about to hit his window.

Someone holding a crowbar.

Quickly, he managed to shield himself from broken glass by covering his face with his arms. The next thing he knew, reacting to the attack, he then hit his assailant with the door, knocking him down. As fast as he could, Dean stepped out of the car, in the hope of disarming the other man.

The man, still holding onto the crowbar and now back on his feet, launched at Dean once more. Dean dodged a swing aimed to his ribs, and seeing an opening, he then punched the man in his jaw.

Twice.

And the guy’s lights went out.

The street had remained seemingly unperturbed.

Chances were, this hadn’t been random and Dean was now extremely worried about Castiel.

He took a few steps towards the house and stopped dead.

His orders were to stay in the car. No matter what. 

But after glancing at the man lying in the street, the shattered glass, and noticing a few windows, which had been dark a moment ago, lighting up in some houses nearby, Dean reminded himself that his orders were also to not leave without his passenger and bring him back safely.

And considering the commotion, he judged that it wouldn’t be long before the cops or back-up would show up.

So, certain that the guy was truly unconscious, Dean picked up the crowbar, and was ready to retrieve his passenger.

He approached the house with caution, despite its tranquil appearance, and hurried to the back. Grateful that there were no dogs and that security was rather slack, he made his way into the house through an open window.

The house was dark.

As he crossed the dining room, he heard a commotion coming from another room to his left. Holding on tightly to the crowbar, Dean followed the noise down the hallway, sliding against the wall, until he finally reached the room at the end of the corridor.

His heart sank when he saw Castiel tied up to a chair.

He was bleeding from his left temple and mouth, and although it was impossible to see from Dean’s vantage point, it appeared that his shirt was stained with blood as well.

Dean then spotted Castiel’s blade on the ground, right behind the two men who were standing in front of him.

“It ain’t complicated,” said one of them. “Just tell us what we need to know and we let you walk.”

“Assuming you still can by the time we’re finished with you.”

Silence.

“You know it doesn’t add up. Something’s brewing in the background.”

“Why is the big boss so nagging about this?”

“Tell us.”

Silence.

One of the assailants, the taller one of the two, then stepped forward. He seized Castiel by the shoulder harshly, and judging by the angle he was twisting his arm, Dean was convinced that the man was jabbing his thumb into Castiel’s injured shoulder.

Castiel remained quiet.

He did not utter a sound. Not even a grunt.

His expression did not change, either.

But Dean noticed his hands shaped into fists.

“You’re a crazy tough son of a bitch, you know that?”

“Maybe once he sees what Tyrus will have done to his driver, he’ll be more inclined to talk.”

Castiel stirred in his seat.

“Yeah, about that,” said the other man, “why do you need a driver?” His hands in his pockets, he leaned over him. “I mean, I get the practicality of it all, especially for the jobs when you need a quick exit. But that’s why they group us. And everyone has to dirty their hands all at once. You…they leave you all alone to do your rounds. And one driver…which is odd.”

Knowing that they would soon wonder about their colleague’s delay, Dean had to act quickly. He took a chance that those two men were the only ones to deal with and, as stealthily as he could, he stepped into the room and grabbed the sharp blade.

Holding it backwards, he hit one of them in the head with the blunt end before they could notice his presence. The guy dropped to the floor, and Dean did the same to the other guy.

He didn’t succeed as well with this one, however, and only managed to make him lose his balance due to the blow.

Instead of going after him though, Dean busied himself with untying Castiel, who was stunned to see Dean there.

The second Castiel’s wrists were free, Dean didn’t even have time to ask him if he could stand before Castiel seized his blade, pushed Dean behind him and attacked the second man who was gunning for Dean.

Blocking his blows, Castiel twisted the man’s arm, and Dean heard a bone crack, followed by the man’s screams until Castiel rendered him unconscious by head locking him.

And he let the man fall to the floor.

And then, everything went quiet. No one else was rushing through the room.

Miraculously, Dean and Castiel had managed to take over the situation.

But they weren’t out of the woods yet.

“Cas? Are you okay?”

He nodded. But Castiel was not as steady on his feet as Dean would like.

“What about you?”

“I’m fine. What—what happened?”

“Trouble,” was all Castiel said.

With his phone, Castiel took pictures of the two guys. And then, from one of the men’s jacket pockets, he retrieved something small wrapped in a brown paper bag. He opened it, checked its contents, and then shut it tightly again, only to stuff it into his own jacket pocket.

Dean, in a desperate hurry to leave this place, signaled Castiel to follow him, as he headed back to where he had come from.

“Careful,” Castiel warned him. “There was a third man.”

“Oh. I—I already took care of him. Which is why we really need to get out of here, now.”

When they reached their vehicle, the man was still there, stirring slightly.

“Get in the car,” said Castiel as he took another picture of their other assailant.

But there was one problem: the tires had been slashed.

Since changing tires was out of the question, they grabbed what they needed from the car, wiped it, and left the vehicle there.

“What do we do now?” asked Dean, as they walked down the street as quietly and quickly as they could.

“I already informed them of what happened. Someone will take care of the car and the—and everything. _We_ just have to get out of _here_.”

“Already on that.” Dean had been scanning for the perfect car since he noticed the tires.

Despite the size of the mansions around there, it was a miracle they weren’t in a gated community.

Which was a good thing considering the quick exit they desperately needed.

That didn’t do much to help them find an improvised getaway car though.

All the vehicles were too expensive for Dean’s taste. While he could manage through many anti-theft systems on his worst day, right now, the last thing he wanted was to attract unnecessary attention.

And then he found it. The perfect car. The one they needed. Old school. A beige 90s Ford truck.

Armed with his good old Slim Jim tool, tucked into his jacket, Dean gained access to the vehicle shortly, and after he hot-wired the car, he and Castiel finally drove off.

He glanced at Castiel, sitting next to him, worried about his state.

He could see now that he wasn’t just bleeding. He was badly bruised on his jaw and neck.

And by the way he was holding himself, not only his shoulder was injured, but probably his ribs as well.

And he had been limping down the street, leaving a faint trail of blood behind him.

“I’m fine, Dean,” said Castiel, looking up ahead.

“Cas, you—you don’t look fine.”

“Let’s just get out of here first and reach the next place. We’ll worry about that later.”

“The next place? You—you mean the doc, right?”

Frowning, Castiel said, “No, I mean, the next stop on our list tonight.”

Dean nearly stopped the vehicle.

“What? No—”

“Dean—”

“You can’t be serious? Cas—”

“We need to go,” he said firmly.

“No. The only place I’m driving you is at the doc or your home.”

“Dean,” Castiel warned him, “we don’t have time for this—”

“Cas, look at you! Look at—”

“Listen to me. I have to bring something back, now more than ever. I need it off my hands. _Now_. I can’t hold on to it and I can’t bring it back to _The Gates_. And neither of us can show up there without doing this, and after what just happened, I can assure you, they are waiting for us."

Dean turned abruptly to him. “Tonight? We have to go there tonight?”

“Yes. The longer it takes us, the worse it’s going to be. For the both of us. We don’t have a choice.”

No longer able to help himself, Dean asked, “What is it? What do you need to bring back?”

But Castiel remained silent.

Frustrated, Dean did as he was told anyway.

Knowing his route, Dean used residential streets. He didn’t want to meet any traffic and cameras since they were driving a stolen vehicle.

Luckily, the second location was in a residential neighborhood. Dean wasn’t happy about letting Castiel enter the second residence on his own, especially after what had just happened, but he also knew better than to protest.

As he waited for Castiel, Dean was wondering what the hell they were supposed to do now. Dean was ready to do many things, but the idea of continuing the rest of the evening with a stolen vehicle and a bloody Castiel was aggravating him greatly.

When Castiel returned to the truck, however, he informed him that they were to change vehicles again.

“What do you mean?” said Dean, stepping out of the truck.

“We are to leave this one here and take this one instead,” he said, pointing to a black Audi parked in the driveway.

Dean didn’t like it one second, but Castiel handed him the keys and shot him a look to get moving.

“That’s all we have left to do, Dean. We take the car, you drop me off a few blocks away from _The Gates_ , and then, after you park the car nearby, you meet us there, the way you usually do.”

“Drop you off? But—”

“We still can’t be seen together.”

Dean shook his head, in frustration. “And are you going to see someone about that?” he said, pointing at Castiel’s general state.

“ _The Gates_ first.”

Dean sighed, officially done with this night.

Just over a half an hour later, they were both standing in Zachariah’s office.

With an unexpected visitor.

The “big boss” himself, Metatron Garrison, was present and awaiting answers to the mess up.

And Dean tried his best to not look as worried as he felt.

They both gave their account of the incident, during which Dean finally got to learn how Castiel had been ambushed. It appeared that the main goal of Castiel’s visit had been to retrieve an item. A long discussion had had to take place beforehand, however, which had been why it had taken him so long. But just as he was finally handed over the item in question, his appointment had been disrupted when three men jumped in on them. The man Castiel had been meeting with was told to leave the premises as they no longer needed his help, implying that he had been in on it.

And according to Castiel, the man left the room out of his own will.

Which was a surprise to Dean since he had been watching the house and the rest of the street like a hawk and had never heard or seen anyone leaving the house, or anything remotely suspicious.

Until a guy smashed his window, that was.

The remainder of Castiel’s story was about his brutal interrogation.

And this had been the part Dean had found the most difficult to hear. Castiel might have seemed unfazed by his attack, but seeing him struggling to stand, was rendering Dean sick with worry.

Once they had finished recounting the night’s events, Metatron and Zachariah appeared to hold an entire conversation between them, simply by exchanging a long look.

Since they hadn’t been chased—by the police or anyone else—Dean hoped they wouldn’t be in too much trouble this time around.

That being said, he deduced that the night’s events were not anything to pride themselves on.

Even if none of it had been their fault.

Also, not that he had any desire to actually meet Metatron one day, but he felt that this wouldn’t have been the circumstances he would have hoped for to have made his acquaintance, had it been his choice.

“So, you left the item at Ishim’s?” Metatron asked Castiel, finally breaking the silence.

“Yes.” Then assessing the strange looks, he added, “It was the initial plan and it was confirmed to me by text to follow through with it as soon as I had stated that I had it in my possession.”

Metatron only nodded and then turned to Zachariah again.

“Well, not everything was lost, I suppose. I cannot help but wonder, however, if we were, perhaps, a bit hasty in giving you this responsibility, Mr. Novak.”

Castiel’s face was expressionless, as always.

But Dean hadn’t missed the small tremor in his hand.

Or the faint jolt in his shoulders.

Castiel had wanted to talk back, but he had caught himself just in time.

And it had taken just about everything for Dean to keep his mouth shut as well.

“I apologize that it went so badly.”

And after holding a long stare, Metatron told him, “Just be careful to _not_ repeat past mistakes, Mr. Novak.”

Castiel swallowed and gave him a firm nod.

Metatron studied them for another moment, until he said to Zachariah, “Keep me posted,” and left the office.

“So, given what happened this evening,” said Zachariah, after Metraton had shut the door behind him, “you are both instructed to lay low for the next week or so. Check for updates on your phone as always, but don’t expect anything until the end of the week. It’s a precaution. Got it?”

They both nodded.

“And we’ll contact you both if any additional issues should arise.” He left his desk. “Dean, always a pleasure,” he told him, pointing at the door Dean typically used. “Cas, this way, we’ll patch you up,” he said, nudging Castiel towards the other door.

They both locked eyes.

Castiel bit his lips and turned on his heels, following Zachariah.

Having kept his promise to help Sam study for his test, Dean had been very proud of his progress throughout the week. Just as he had suspected, with a bit of help and guidance, Sam quickly aced every practice test he was taking and Dean had no problem believing that Sam would do well on his test.

The only problem was, of course, the fact that Sam was _grounded_.

Determined to help Sam, Dean asked Samuel, politely, if he could make an exception and allow Sam to go for his test on his birthday. Given the situation, and that Sam’s birthday was a Saturday—a time when Samuel required their help the most—Dean had prepared himself for a long negotiation.

But it turned out to be far less complicated than he had expected. Not only had Samuel agreed to Dean’s request, but he also decided to give Dean the day off so he and Sam could celebrate the day together in the city.

“As long as you two stick together, let me know where you are and come back home for dinner,” he had added, under a firm stare. “And after that, it’s back to the way it was. I’m making an exception for his birthday because he’s been a good kid. Don’t make me regret this.”

Dean had been stunned by this development.

“I have the day off?”

“You have the weekend off, actually,” said Samuel, sighing.

“But—I—”

“Ask Sam, it was his idea. Way back when. I shouldn’t do it, but I had already agreed. So, there.”

When Dean had questioned Sam about it later on that same day, his brother’s face lit up.

“I—I asked Grandpa if he could start showing me how to do more at the shop. I’ll be sixteen now. I can do more. And maybe it could give you a break once in a while.”

Dean had no idea what to say. As much as he appreciated that Sam wanted to help him in that department, he didn’t want it to be at the price of Sam adding unnecessary pressure on himself.

Besides, it wasn’t like Dean had much to do in his free-time anyway. What was he supposed to do? Implementing a social life wasn’t such a good idea these days, considering the company he kept.

And the only person he actually wanted to spend time with was not available to do so.

Nonetheless, he thanked Sam and for now, decided to simply focus on the fact that he and Sam would be able to have fun together on his birthday.

Which had been the best attitude to adopt since Saturday brought pouring rain and strong winds. They opted to hit the DMV as early as possible, so they could enjoy the rest of the day stress-free, and have another reason to celebrate.

Sam passed his test with flying colors, and bursting with pride, Dean then asked him what he would like to do.

“It can be anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Yes. Anything.”

He bit his lips and said, “Can we go to a museum? The American Writers Museum, to be exact?”

“A museum? Really?”

“You said anything I wanted!”

Dean was about to call him a nerd, but then decided to keep it to himself since it was his birthday.

“I—you’re right. I just didn’t know that one existed.”

“Please?”

“We’re going,” he said, laughing. “You just need to tell me where it is so we can get there.”

When they arrived at said museum, Dean was pleasantly surprised by the fact that Sam appeared to be acquainted with the pretty blond who was wearing a volunteer badge. Sam awkwardly waved at her, as she stepped into the gift shop.

Smirking, Dean glanced at him. “Who’s that?”

“Jess. Jessica. She’s just someone I know from school.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?” said Sam, as his cheeks were turning red.

“Nothing. Just really happy you love _books_ that deeply.”

“I do…like books.”

Dean rolled his eyes. A smile then spread on his face, and tugging on Sam’s sleeve, he headed towards the gift shop.

“What are you doing?” said Sam, panicking.

“Helping you, you adorable dork.”

“Dean, no.” Sam came to a halt. “Please, it’s gonna be weird.”

“To what? Say hello?”

Pursing his lips, Sam lifted himself on his toes to peek above Dean’s shoulder and immediately lowered himself.

“Sammy, you seriously made us come all the way here on your birthday to see a girl and then you won’t even _bother_ to talk to her?”

“That wasn’t the reason!” he protested. “I’ve been meaning to come here for a while now. Really. It, um, just happened that she volunteers here, too.”

Dean chuckled. “Okay. Well, since that’s the case, how about you take advantage of the situation and, like I said, pop in there and say hello. It’s the least you can do. Besides, it’s your birthday.”

“Dean,” said Sam warningly, “don’t tell her.”

“Why not? Don’t you know anything? Today is probably the best day to ask her out! I’m not saying is a done deal, just saying—”

“ _Dean_.”

“All right, fine!” he said to Sam. “Just—at least, get in there and talk to her. Yeah?”

“Alone.”

“Yeah, nice try. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” And then, seeing Sam’s sad puppy dog eyes, he added, “I’ll be in the shop…not standing right next to you. Deal?”

True to his word, Dean followed Sam into the gift shop, but occupied himself with scanning the merchandise, while keeping an eye on Sam.

A few minutes later, he saw Sam waving goodbye to Jessica and nodded at Dean to follow him as he was exiting the shop.

“So, what happened?” said Dean, once he caught up with him. They slowly made their way towards one of the exhibits.

“Nothing much. I just said hello, like you said.”

“And? Did you ask her out?”

“No.”

“Ugh. Sam!”

“Because she did.”

Dean burst into laughter. “Okay, well, great. That’s the happy ending I wanted.”

“Not exactly,” answered Sam with a sour face.

“You didn’t refuse, right?”

“I didn’t say no, but I couldn’t say yes, either.”

“Why not?”

“Um, I’m still technically grounded, remember?”

“Right. I—I forgot about that.”

“That makes one of us.”

“But…you told her why, no?”

“Yes. And then I had to explain why I was able to be here if I was grounded…”

Which made Dean's grin widen.

“And then what happened?”

“Cas!”

“Cas?” said Dean, confused. “Why are you—”

“Hey, Cas!” said Sam, waving his uninjured arm to attract attention, as he was staring in front of him. “Here!”

Following his gaze, it took Dean an instant before finding him, and when his eyes finally fell on him, he held his breath.

There he was, just up ahead of them, looking as stunned as Dean was.

He was wearing a trench coat over his usual elegant suit, which was why it had taken Dean a moment to spot him.

Nervously glancing around, Dean felt suddenly exposed as he rushed behind Sam who hurried to Castiel’s spot.

“Hello, Dean. Sam.”

Castiel was in a better shape than last time Dan had set eyes on him. He didn’t seem to be limping anymore, and except for a bruised lip and a small cut on his temple, no other injury was discernible to the naked eye.

It didn’t mean that they weren’t there, however.

“I thought that was you!” said Sam. “Hi! It’s so cool that you’re here, too!”

“It is certainly surprising, yes.” He gave Sam a small smile and subtly scanned their surroundings as well. “What are you two doing here today?”

“It’s Sam’s birthday,” explained Dean. “I told him we’d do whatever he wanted.”

Castiel’s expression immediately softened.

“That’s nice. Well, in that case, happy birthday, Sam.”

“Thanks. What about you? Were you here for a special occasion?”

“I’m afraid not, no. Just had the afternoon off, that’s all.”

Like Dean, Castiel seemed to be paying close attention to their surroundings. And then, despite all the nervous glances, Dean still managed to catch those kind blue eyes staring back at him.

And continued staring intensively.

“Um, guys?”

Dean snapped out of it. “What? What were you saying?” he asked Sam.

Sam bounced his eyes from Dean to Castiel for an instant, until a smile formed itself on his lips.

“So, what you’re saying is that you’re not meeting anyone here and that you don’t have any plans this afternoon,” said Sam, adopting a lighter tone.

“That is correct.”

“Cool.” And then, right before shooting a mischievous look at Dean, he added, “Well, since you’re here, would you like to join us?”

“Sam, I—I don’t want to ruin your day—”

“You’re not. I’d like you to join us. And I know that Dean certainly wouldn’t mind, too.”

And it was about that time when Dean squinted at Sam.

“Please? It’s my birthday. Dean literally just gave me a speech on how you’re allowed to make unusual requests on your birthday. That and how you should really—how did you word it, Dean? _Take advantage of the situation_.”

Letting out a fake laugh, Dean hissed, “It wasn’t in that context.”

“Pretty sure it was _exactly_ in that context, actually,” Sam said, lifting an eyebrow.

And Dean now knew for sure that it was no use trying to lie about that.

His attraction for Castiel, it seemed, was that obvious.

Which was potentially a problem if they considered the rest of the world.

But judging by the crowd roaming around them, it most likely wasn’t that threatening at that moment. Still aware of the risks, however, he then said, “Um, do you have your phone, Cas? Mine—mine is, um, gonna die soon.”

Castiel, understanding what Dean was getting at, said, “Sorry. I left mine at home. I—I needed a break.”

If Zachariah was tracking their whereabouts through their phones, it wouldn’t incriminate them this afternoon. Of course, they could have still been followed, but Dean decided that it was time to put the paranoia aside for a few hours. Surely, the Garrisons had bigger problems in that moment than Dean and Castiel randomly running into one another.

So, he said, “If you think you can spare us some time, Cas, I think it would be nice for you to join us.”

And with a warm smile, Castiel nodded, accepting their invitation.

To Dean’s relief, Sam’s teasing was kept to a minimum after that. He did, however, smirk at Dean every time he caught him staring at Castiel.

It was a bit awkward at first. Dean had the sense that Castiel, while exchanging words with them, was simultaneously almost trying to subtly distance himself from them.

Perhaps it was all in Dean’s mind though. Judging by Sam’s attitude, he didn’t seem to notice anything unusual.

Slowly, both of them relaxed, lay down their guard a bit, and by the end of the visit, they had even enjoyed each other’s company.

A lot of staring and smiles shared, too.

And against their better judgement, once they were ready to leave the museum, Castiel invited both of them for lunch in order to have a mini celebration for Sam’s birthday.

“I know a quiet diner down the block,” he told them.

And Dean nodded, understanding.

For a couple of hours, it felt almost normal, so much so that Dean had fought the urge to reach for Castiel’s hand on more than one occasion.

Dean and Sam told funny stories of their neighborhood, while Castiel told them the story of his old neighbor who had taught him to drive, which involved an old rundown Lincoln that he described as a "Pimpmobile."

After the waiter left with their empty plates and they all politely ordered dessert, Sam slid himself off the booth.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom.” And before Dean could add something else, he turned on his heels and hurried past the counter.

Leaving Castiel and Dean alone.

There was a short pause during which they let out short nervous laughs, until Dean finally spoke, after clearing his throat.

“It’s nice to see you, Cas.”

“Likewise.”

Dean’s eyes fell on Castiel’s lips.

His bruised bottom lip, to be exact.

He leaned on his elbows to get himself closer. “How—how are you?”

“I’m okay, Dean. It—it could have been worse.” And he gave him a sad look. His right hand moved a bit, almost as though he was about to reach for Dean’s, but instead he leaned back into the booth and rested his hand at the edge of the tabletop, tapping his fingers on it.

There were many things Dean wished to discuss in that moment, most of which were probably not suitable given their location. Their time was also somewhat limited to undertake such a discussion.

“What about you?”

“I’m okay, too.” And then, swallowing hard, he said, “Except that I—”

“Here you go, fellas,” said the waiter, carrying one apple pie, one milkshake and a double chocolate cake.

“—miss you.”

Unsure if Castiel had heard him properly, Dean was unable to repeat his words as the waiter urgently asked where the birthday boy was.

“Here!” announced Sam who was shyly taking back his seat.

And then, all three of them awkwardly sang happy birthday to Sam, as he blew on his tiny candle.

Eventually, the lunch ended and Castiel wished them goodbye and to enjoy the rest of their day.

And he left, glancing at Dean one last time.

Sam and Dean had a fun afternoon in the city. They stopped at a cool donut shop, took funny selfies when they checked out “the bean,” and played pool at a restaurant-pub where Dean knew they wouldn’t get in trouble. And soon, they headed back home for dinner, as promised.

Samuel had surprisingly ordered take out from Sam’s favourite restaurant. They rarely ate out, even on special occasions, but it seemed that Samuel had wanted to make sure Sam enjoyed his day, so he opted to do the next best thing.

Sam, thanking Samuel and granting him a hug, had clearly been pleased by his grandfather’s gesture. And when Dean and Samuel looked at each other, Dean gave him a kind nod, showing him his appreciation for his effort.

They had their nice supper, which consisted of the best dumplings in town—in Dean’s opinion—stir fry, basil noodles, delicious tofu general tso—Sam’s favourite—and an abundance of spring rolls, to which Dean was sure his stomach was bottomless for.

Sam and Dean recounted their day to Samuel, except the part when they had met Castiel. Dean had been incredibly glad that Sam had needed no reminders on the subject.

Samuel disappeared to the shop again for a few hours once dinner was done, right after he handed Sam his birthday present: a new cell phone.

“It’s not the one you wanted, but it’s the only one I could afford given what happened to the other one,” he said. And then, almost as though he was worried to have become a little too sentimental, he added, “This is mainly for your safety. Use it _wisely_. And I can control the coverage…so don’t make me change my mind.”

Sam and Dean did the dishes quickly and then spent the rest of their evening watching a few episodes of their new obsession: _E.R._

All in all, Dean had to admit that it had been a good day. Certainly the best he had had in years.

And while he had tremendously enjoyed his evening with Sam, as he sat on the couch, hearing Sam chewing on his chips, his mind often wandered elsewhere.

To Castiel, of course.

Seeing him earlier that day had been unexpected. The best kind of surprise. And even though they hadn’t ended on a bad note, he knew there was more to be said.

Samuel eventually returned and told them (Sam, more than Dean) that it was time to go to sleep, and Dean let Sam undertake his bedtime routine before him.

But Dean had no intention of going to sleep in any time soon.

After cleaning up, knowing that Samuel was half-dozing off in the living room in front of the news, Dean hurried back to his bedroom.

Sam was all bundled up in his bed with his nose in a book. He lifted his eyes and said, “Uh-huh. Going out?”

“Um, yeah,” he said, glancing back at the door, with caution. “Am I awful if I ask you to cover for me?”

Sam shook his head, smiling widely.

“It—it might be more than just cover for me with Samuel, though.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean took a deep breath and fetched his jacket that was resting on his bed and retrieved his work phone from its pocket.

“I can’t explain why, but I have to leave this here,” he told him, putting it on the nightstand. “No snooping. You can’t use it. But it has to remain turned on in case I get a text. Can I trust you to not mess around with it and to let me know,” he said, lifting his personal cell, “if I receive a text?”

Sam frowned for a second, but he nodded.

“No telling to Samuel, either. About the phone, I mean.”

“I won’t. I promise. What do I do if someone calls?”

“Nobody’s gonna call. I’m probably not even going to receive a text, either…and if I do, just let me know what it is using your own phone, okay? I—I’m just being careful.”

“Okay. I got it, Dean.”

He breathed deeply, relieved that Sam was ready to help him. “Thank you. And thanks for, um, not having told Samuel about Cas, too.”

“No problem. Although, I wish I could. I won’t,” he added urgently. “I promise I won’t ever tell Grandpa about Cas until you say it’s okay. But I’m sad we can’t. Today was fun.”

Dean debated for a moment if he should mention to Sam that it wasn’t simply an issue to not mention Castiel to Samuel, but also avoid Castiel publicly as well.

He knew he would have to make it clear that, in the future, what had happened today could not be repeated.

But for now, he decided to let Sam be happy and worry about that later.

Thus, he simply nodded to Sam in agreement and then slid open the window.

“Is that where you go when you sneak out?”

“What do you mean? Where?”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Castiel’s, Dean. When you come back really late—or even when I see you sneaking out in the dead of night…that’s really where you’re going, right? To Castiel’s?”

Almost tempted to let Sam believe that lie, Dean took a second to ponder on the option. It was far less depressing or problematic than the truth.

But he had promised he wouldn’t lie when it wasn’t needed.

“No. Not exactly. I—I really am working.”

Sam pursed his lips. “Okay. But not tonight, though. Right?”

Dean shifted on his feet. “I—I just need to talk to him.”

“ _Talk._ Sure. The kind where you take your clothes off, you mean?”

“I—um. No. I—what makes you say that?”

“You just took a shower and you smell like when you used to go out to that bar.”

Dean bit his lips and lowered his eyes.

“Thought so. Have fun,” said Sam, smirking at him.

“Shut up.”


	9. Chapter Nine: The Driver and His Passenger

Dean stood nervously in front of Castiel’s door, summoning up the courage to knock. He had spent the entire train ride on his way there with his arms crossed over his chest and fidgeting on his seat.

After the few stolen hours that they had had earlier that day, he believed that there was no better time to finally have a proper discussion.

Where he could finally apologize without rambling. Or worrying that Sam might hear something that was best kept unknown to him. Or being interrupted by whatever dramatic event was about to be dropped on their heads.

He wanted to clear the air. The late morning and lunch had been an unexpected step in that direction, and Dean didn’t want to wait for another opportunity that may never come. Nor did he want to wait too long and chicken out.

Which could definitely be a possibility.

His main concern, of course, was that he might ruin the moment with his inability to express himself like a human being when Castiel was around.

As always.

But he had made it this far.

He swallowed hard, glanced into the quiet hallway, and knocked on the door. It took a moment. And then the lock and handle turned.

And Castiel, stunned, was suddenly staring at him. He gave him a shy smile and pushed the door open to let him in silently.

Unlike during his last visit, Castiel hadn’t changed his clothes yet. And while the sight of him in his pajama pants, with a neat house coat exposing his bare chest, had been burned into Dean’s mind forever, his current attire wasn’t anything to be upset about, either.

He had simply removed his jacket, and still had the rest of his elegant suit on.

And navy-blue suspenders.

Which Dean hadn’t noticed earlier in the day because of the jacket _and_ trench coat Castiel had been wearing.

And he had no idea why suspenders had that effect on him, but he felt his heartbeat increase and jitters spread in his chest at the very sight of them.

Then again, he was pretty sure that Castiel could have worn a trash bag and Dean would still feel the same.

“I would have called, but…” he said once Castiel had shut the door behind him.

“How did you get in? You didn’t have my keys this time.”

“Luck was on my side, I guess,” he said, jokingly. Assessing that Castiel really wanted to know the answer, he added, “I saw a couple with their dog arrive at the side door just as I was debating if I should try the lobby or not. They let me in.”

Castiel nodded, understanding. “They accessed the second floor?”

“Yeah,” said Dean, surprised that Castiel knew exactly who he was talking about. “They seemed nice.”

“They are,” said Castiel warmly.

And on that note, the chit chat hit a dead end.

Uncertain about how to yield the conversation to the matter Dean desperately wanted to discuss, he fell silent and awkwardly stared at Castiel.

“Sam wasn’t upset that you left? I already feel bad I crashed a big part of your day.”

“Don’t think that. It was Sam’s idea that you spend time with us and he was really happy you did.” He took a pause. “And so was I. I’m always happy when I see you.”

Castiel diverted his gaze a moment as he took a deep breath.

“While I’m happy to see you as well, I must ask: why are you here this time, Dean?”

There was a pause. Dean felt his palms getting sweaty.

“To say that I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“You’ve already said that. There is no need for apologies,” he said kindly.

“No, there is. I’m sorry. About everything. Cas, I—I—when I left…I regretted it the second I had done it. I know I shouldn’t have left—especially not like that—”

“Then why did you?”

He had said it in such a soft voice, it was more painful to hear him say it like that than if he had yelled at him.

“Because I panicked. Okay? I know it’s a dumb excuse, but that’s what happened. I mean, God, I—I knew I liked you, but—but what happened between us—being with you—the way you—I wasn’t expecting it to be like this. I mean, I don’t know about you, but that wasn’t just blowing off steam for me. It meant something. And—”

“Is that what you wanted it to be? Just…‘blowing off steam?’”

“No. Yes—fuck, I have no idea. How could I? Cas, feelings and…attachment….romantic notions and—that—I know nothing about that. I always stayed away from it and it’s never been difficult to do so before. In fact, I always thought it was easy. But you…I tried to ignore it. I tried to downplay it. I tried to convince myself that this— _us_ —wasn’t a good idea simply because we work together. Because of the rules. Because of—fuck—because of so many things! And even if they were good arguments, it wasn’t the real reason why I felt I should stay away. And then I followed you here anyway and I didn’t know what to do with myself after that. I wasn’t ready for that. And you were just there, staring at me like—it hit me how real this is and it scared the shit out of me.”

Dean paused a moment, taking the time to swallow as he felt his throat tighten near the end of his sentence.

“If that’s how you feel,” said Castiel, “why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I—I tried. But I—I guess I was still processing it, because every time I opened my damn mouth to explain myself to you, I said the wrong thing. Like when I came here last time. I really just wanted to say thank you. By _saying_ it, not…I swear I wasn’t suggesting that sleeping with you was like…Cas, I told you…it meant something to me. Far more than I can explain.”

He took a step forward.

“And then, in the middle of all this, we were hit with so much fucked up shit and I—I honestly don’t know how I would have survived the last month if it hadn’t been for you.”

He took another step.

“You make everything better,” he said softly. He took a deep breath, turned his eyes for a second, and then, once he was sure he was able to continue, he returned his gaze to Castiel. “And I don’t just mean by literally saving me and Sam, but just—just knowing you’ll be there on the job…that I’ll get to see you. Even when you were mad at me—justly so, by the way—I’m always looking forward to seeing you.”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest. “You are? Even after—” He hesitated a moment, and then, let out a deep sigh. “No matter how tempted I was by you, I too knew it was a bad idea. But not for the reasons you might think. More than just because it’s against the rules—although that’s certainly not to be entirely dismissed.”

Completely lost, Dean said, “I—what do you mean?”

“I was worried—still am—about what would happen when you’d really know who I am. The kind of person I am.”

Dean frowned, still confused.

“And after that night, I was sure that would be it,” continued Castiel.

“I don’t—you mean when we slept together?”

Castiel shook his head vehemently. “No, not that. I’m talking about the night when I helped you with Sam. When you—you saw what I did. Even if you had a good idea of what I do for a living, there is a difference between knowing about it and actually _seeing_ it. Once that was made clear to you, I thought—” Castiel bit lips and diverted his gaze.

“You thought what?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Cas?”

Shutting his eyes for an instant, and after inhaling deeply, he said, “I thought I had ruined everything. That you’d be—that—that you wouldn’t look at me the same after that. And that you’d never let me near you again. And I wouldn't have blamed you.”

“Are you serious right now? You—you thought I would be scared of you because of that? That I wouldn’t want to… I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m positive you could beat up everyone I know with one hand tied behind your back and it would be easy cake for you. But I’m not scared of you. I—I feel safe with you. Not because you’re badass and I need protection as though that’s just what you’re good for.” He took another step closer. “You’re far more than that. I feel safe with you because of _who_ you are. You’re the good guy.”

“You can’t honestly say that after what you’ve seen me do,” he said, looking upset for the first time that night.

“I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I do. And so should you. Dean, I—what I do for work…” He swallowed hard and lowered his eyes.

“Is for _work_.”

“But I’m still doing it.”

Determined to make him understand that it didn’t bother him, Dean took hold of his hand, and said, “Cas, listen to me, you are not a bad person—you are so not _the_ bad guy.”

He didn’t seem convinced.

“Trust me, I’ve been around enough deep shits and truly awful people to know the difference, okay?”

“You really mean that?”

“Yes.”

And then something occurred to Dean.

“Cas? Is—is this why you thought I was trying to, um, pay you back? Because you thought I was afraid of you? Of what you might do?”

“I didn’t know what else to think. Because of the job, I keep mostly to myself during my personal time, and during business hours, I interact with only a handful of people. And fear is the main emotion displayed during my work interactions. And that is why I really hate that you saw that. You were one of the few people I knew who didn’t look at me like that. And when I realized that I had ruined it, that you couldn’t _unsee_ it, I—that’s when I knew how much I cared.”

“I don’t know how else to say this except that nothing you could do would make me feel differently.”

“That’s a really serious thing to say, Dean.”

“But it’s true. After everything, how can it not be?”

Holding their hands and staring at each other for a long moment, they let the words sink in.

“So, what do you suggest we do now?” asked Castiel. “Pretending that we are indifferent is evidently futile. But this is dangerous. We may have been lucky so far, but that won’t always be the case.”

Dean squeezed his hand. “Maybe they won’t care. If we don’t cause trouble, maybe down the line, Zachariah, the Garrisons, maybe they won’t care.”

“I can assure you they will. And—” but whatever Castiel had wished to say, he kept it to himself. He shut his mouth and swallowed hard.

“And what?”

Shaking his head, he said, “Nothing. I—maybe you’re right. Maybe eventually, they won’t. But that’s a long, _long_ way from now. And I wouldn’t hold my breath over it.”

“So where does that leave us? We just… walk away? Cas, I…fuck, after everything, knowing how you feel too, I—I don’t think I can.”

Castiel brought his hand to his face, so gently, almost as though he was expecting Dean to lean back.

“If—if we do this—Dean, you know like me that we will have to keep this to our own discretion. No going out. No more lunches with Sam. No—just hide in this apartment. I—I’m used to making myself invisible. But unlike you, I don’t have other people in my life to answer to. To look out for. In a way, it makes it less complicated. But I’m sure it’s already a strenuous task for you to keep your family life and your job separate. It would be selfish of me to put you through this whole process again with this.”

“Cas—”

“And I’m not exaggerating when I said this is dangerous,” he continued. “A part of me was almost relieved when you walked away that night. I didn’t want you to,” he added urgently, “but considering everything, I knew this was playing with fire. I—I just…I had a moment of weakness and I let myself believe that—that I could—”

Castiel choked on the rest of his sentence.

But Dean knew what he had wanted to say.

That he could have had something for himself.

Something he had never known he had wanted— _needed_ —until now.

And in the middle of all this blood, pain, and sorrow, how could he not wish for this?

“I’m the one who kissed you, remember?” said Dean. “If anyone had a moment of weakness, it was me. And I’m so fucking glad I did.” He took a deep breath. “Cas, I—I know it won’t be easy—actually, it probably will be way harder than I think—but I don’t want to bury this.” 

“Me neither.”

And their lips met.

Giving into a slow kiss. Still hungry like the last time, but gentler. Less sloppy. Nor in a hurry. Like he wanted to savor it this time around.

They broke the kiss to catch their breaths, and after a deep stare, Dean pressed himself against him, holding him tightly. As he was about to lean in for another kiss though, Castiel stopped him by delicately holding him by his chin.

“You—are you sure?”

Dean nodded and kissed him open mouthed.

Pressing himself against him further, Dean felt Castiel’s hand ease down on his back and reach for the edge of his shirt. He slid his hand underneath it and caressed his skin.

Following his lead, Dean began unbuttoning Castiel’s shirt, while not missing a chance to press his mouth to Castiel’s skin every time he could.

Dean carefully ran his fingers over Castiel’s shoulder until he had almost reached Castiel’s injury. The skin was pink around the cut, but the wound appeared to be healing nicely.

Locking eyes with him, he asked, “Does it hurt?”

Smiling, Castiel shook his head.

Dean did the same when his fingers grazed Castiel’s bruised ribs and wrists. Not a wince. Jolt. Or tremor.

“I promise I’m okay, Dean.”

Soon, the layers of clothes were dropping to the ground.

As they slowly undressed each other.

Hungry for each other’s flesh.

With one arm across Dean’s back, and the other hand gently pulling Dean’s head backward, thus exposing his neck, Castiel twirled his tongue on Dean’s throat.

Dean felt his skin burning up and the quivers intensifying, and once he let out a faint whine, Castiel took a step back, letting go of him. He examined Dean under a feverish look.

Then, he brushed his fingertips over Dean’s skin along his collarbone and right shoulder.

As Dean remained exactly where he stood, feeling his heartbeat increasing exponentially, Castiel, slowly moving around him and still sliding his fingers across his skin, stepped behind him.

Out of sight, with only his warm touch as an indication of his position, Castiel did nothing but stand behind Dean.

And then his warm touch left his skin.

Resisting the urge to turn around and face him, or even look at the corner of his eye, Dean kept his gaze ahead of him and waited with anticipation.

Sensing Castiel’s presence.

His stare.

Dean’s knees and shoulders began trembling again. He felt tingles in his lower back. And his hard cock pulsated in a way that it was almost painful.

And then he felt it.

Castiel’s warm breath against his neck. Which made him bite his lips and shape his hands into fists, trying to keep the quivering to a minimum.

If Castiel wasn’t going to touch him soon, Dean was about to lose his damn mind.

“Cas.”

Soft lips pressing against the back of his shoulders came first.

Then, fingertips caressed one of Dean’s butt cheeks.

A moan slipped out of Dean’s mouth, as he shivered all over.

“You’re still trembling,” Castiel whispered to him.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Dean tried to solidify his position by shifting his weight on his right leg for a bit, and as though Castiel had guessed what he was thinking, he repeated his subtle touch on his bare ass, just a little bit closer to his crack, and withdrew his fingers before reaching it, which caused Dean to let out a loud groan of frustration as he felt his thighs shake.

“I’m starting to see that.”

Both of Castiel’s hands gently eased down his ribs, and then to his hips.

Dean’s left leg nearly gave out. He reached for Castiel’s hands and pushed himself against him, feeling Castiel’s erection against his ass.

Pressed against him, he let Castiel tease him with a few rolls of his hips, enjoying his tongue and his teeth on his neck, until Dean had reached his limit and turned around to face him.

Still wobbling on his feet, he brought his hands to the side of Castiel’s face, and kissed him hard on the mouth. Sucking on Castiel’s tongue, Dean gently nudged him towards the bed.

Castiel let out a short laugh as he was kissing him, causing them to break the kiss for a moment.

“You’re quite in a hurry to get to the bed this time.”

And staring into the deep of his eyes, Dean answered, “I didn’t know what I was missing.”

Spent. Sticky. Blissful.

They lay next to each other. Limbs intertwined. Under a thin soft sheet.

Dean was staring at Castiel who was soothingly caressing his shoulder.

“I wish you could stay.”

“I don’t have to go,” he said, sliding himself closer.

“You don’t have to say that. I—I understand the situation. With your brother and grandfather, I mean. I know your family is probably waiting for you.”

Dean wanted to tell Castiel that he considered him one of them now.

But worried he was pushing it too much, he said, instead, “Sam is covering for me. And I have the day off tomorrow. Which…I don’t remember the last time that happened. So, if—if you want, I can stay.”

“The _whole_ day off, huh?” said Castiel, amused.

“That’s right.”

“I don’t think I can refuse that.” He kissed his hand. “Even if I can’t show you off?”

“Even then.” Sinking himself into his pillows, Dean said, “I didn’t really have plans to go anywhere else than this bed, anyway.”

Castiel laughed.

“Good to know. But you know what I mean.”

“I know. And I’m okay with that.”

“Okay.”

Dean drew himself a little closer. “And if we could go anywhere and do anything, what would you have liked to go today?”

“No idea. Although…driving away on the open road with you, that would be fantastic.”

Dean shut his eyes a moment, loving the idea.

He could picture it. The two of them. In the Impala.

Away from all this.

“I second that.”

This was the last thought Dean had before peacefully dozing off next to Castiel.

Dean was awoken early in the next morning when he felt Castiel’s warmth leaving him. He turned his head just in time to see the bathroom door shut.

As he waited for Castiel to come back to him, he quickly checked his phone, and was relieved to see there were no message from Sam.

“You’re awake. My fault?” asked Castiel returning to the bed.

“S’okay. Nature called.”

“Yes. And ew. Not exactly the topic I was hoping to start the day with,” he said, laughing.

“No?” said Dean, trying to hold down his grin. “And what topic of discussion did you have in mind?”

Castiel looked at him adoringly.

He leaned in, and giving him a warm smile, he gently pressed his lips right above Dean’s right eye. Then his cheek. And then, inches from his lips, he breathed, “Morning.”

“Morning.”

And gave him a sweet kiss on the mouth.

He lay down next to him and asked Dean, “Slept well?”

“Very. Nice dreams.”

“Yeah?”

“You were in it.”

“Hmm. And what was I doing?”

Dean laughed. “Not that.”

Still both a bit tired, and in no way in a hurry to leave the bed, they simply stayed there quietly, staring at each other, listening to the traffic on the street down below.

The mention of his dream reminded Dean of a certain detail he hadn’t shared with Castiel yet. Being so comfortable next him, he decided that now was a good time.

“Cas?”

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you about your car.”

He turned his head to him. “It’s not broken, is it? Like I grossly overlooked something or—”

“No, no, the car is perfect,” he said, reassuring him. “It’s—this is going to sound weird.”

“What is it?”

Dean hesitated a moment, and then thought that it would be easier to show him than to tell him. So, he left the bed, fetched his wallet in his pants pockets, and returned next to Castiel, presenting him with a small photograph.

It was an old picture—the only one he had—of his parents. It had been taken when Sam was only a toddler in Mary’s arms, with Dean and John next to them in front of the Impala.

All of them were smiling. Even baby Sammy who was looking at his mother.

Dean had always liked this picture. He had often admired it on his father’s garage wall, and when Samuel had arrived to take him and Sam to Chicago, this had been one of the few things Dean had succeeded in snatching for himself.

Castiel smiled as he looked at the photograph, and then, after further observations, when Dean was sure he had noticed the car behind his family, he turned his eyes to Dean.

“Your family had an Impala, too?”

“Actually…we, um, had the one you have specifically.”

Castiel, frowning, said, “How on earth can you tell?”

“There is S.W. and D.W. engraved on the wooden panel in the back.”

“Yes. I noticed that when—Sam and Dean Winchester,” he then said, realizing what Dean was getting at.

Dean nodded.

“It’s really your old car? Oh, that’s why you were asking how I had gotten it. Wait—Dean, was it stolen from you?”

“Not from us, no. A couple of years after both my parents passed away, Samuel sold the car. It was supposed to belong to me and Sam, but…he sold it anyway. I hated him for a long time after that. Even if I know he didn’t have the money to keep it, I always felt deep down like he had done it out of spite or something. I know he didn’t, but…”

“This is such an odd coincidence. As I told you, it was given to me as a form of payment. It wasn’t something I would have requested—or even thought of requesting—but I must admit I always liked it. Even if I didn’t have many opportunities to use it.”

“And what would you have asked for?”

There was a pause and Castiel said, “Not something material, I think.”

Not sure what Castiel meant by that, Dean was about to ask additional questions, but Castiel then said, “I feel uncomfortable having that car now.”

“Don’t be,” said Dean, resting his hand on his chest. “I love that you’re the one who has it.”

He put back the photograph in his wallet and took his spot back, right next to Castiel. Talking about his family suddenly made Dean realize that he knew next to nothing about Castiel. He didn’t have any photographs or memorabilia in his apartment. Nothing indicating something personal about him—save perhaps his love of reading and his appeal for elegant suits. And even then, that wasn’t shedding much light on him.

“What about you? What about your family.”

The second the words had come out of his mouth, Dean regretted it. Castiel immediately turned himself on his back and withdrew his hands to himself.

“It’s not exactly a cheerful story.”

“Sorry, I—I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” He rested a hand on Castiel’s chest, feeling his beating heart.

“You didn’t,” said Castiel earnestly. “It’s just…”

He bit his lips and reached for Dean’s hand, brushing the back of his hand with his thumb. He didn’t return to his initial position to look back at Dean, but he began talking.

“Like you, my parents died when I was still very young. My father before my tenth birthday. We were already struggling with money well before his death, but once he passed…our options were very limited. I was angry and I did certain things that landed me in trouble with the wrong people. And as you know, once that happens, things tend to only get more complicated from there.”

Dean could easily see it unfold.

Petty theft to survive. Due to anger. Frustration. Not knowing the real consequences because nobody had ever told him where they could truly lead. After all, it wasn’t that far off from Dean’s own origin story into shady work. It had just taken him longer than Castiel to get there.

A slippery slope. Although, Dean always thought of it more as quicksand.

The slope had a bottom at least. Surviving the fall was possible.

Not so much with the quicksand.

And if it was easy to fool adults over it, a child had no chance whatsoever.

“I’m sorry this happened to you. And making questionable decisions because of shitty circumstances, only to land into more trouble, don't—I get it.”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand.

Broaching this topic of conversation reminded Dean of something else he had meant to ask Castiel for some time now.

A question which had weighed on his mind since his conversation with Samuel.

Since Gordon had taken Sam.

Since, perhaps, the moment he had accepted Zachariah’s offer.

“Cas, can I ask another question?”

“Of course.”

“I—I don’t know how to ask without sounding…I—never mind.”

“What is it?”

“I—I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

A smile appeared at the corner of Castiel’s smile. “By asking a question?”

“It’s about the Garrisons.”

“I can’t answer if you don’t ask,” he said, brushing his thumb on his hand.

Dean hesitated one moment, and then said, “Have you—have you ever heard of someone getting out?”

Dean didn’t need to say more than that.

He knew Castiel had understood.

While his facial expression didn’t change, he took his time before answering. “If you are still at the courting phase, as they would call it, when they are formally inviting you to work for them—if you have the luxury to be granted a choice, that is—then, yes. Before you agree, you are allowed to say ‘No, thank you’ and walk away.”

Remembering his first meeting with Zachariah, or even Samuel’s comment on the Garrisons, so far, Dean knew this to be true.

“But once you’re in…” continued Castiel, “it’s not unheard of. But it is extremely rare.”

So, just as Dean had expected, Zachariah had lied.

“How rare?”

“Under _unique_ circumstances. Of what I’ve heard though, which isn’t much, it has to be done the right way.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Running off wouldn’t be the way to go,” said Castiel grimly. “You won’t outrun them or outsmart them.”

Dean nodded, fully agreeing that it would be foolish to think so.

“The only way you could hope for this outcome, I think, is to ask them for permission. But as you might have guessed, not everyone is in a position to be asking for favours, never mind seeing them be granted. You must have a good opportunity and the track record to go with it. So, as I said, _rare_.”

And years of devotion, thought Dean.

“And if they say no, and they will most likely say no,” continued Castiel, “then that’s their answer. That pretty much goes for any favour. No point in asking again. If they say yes,” he said, sighing, “it won’t be for free. The price will be high.”

“How high?”

“The ‘I try to not think about it’ high.”

Dean lowered his eyes and slid himself closer to him, resting his chin on his shoulder.

They stayed in that fashion for some time, until Castiel hoisted himself on his elbow to look at Dean properly.

“Dean? Can you promise me something?”

“What?”

“If there ever is an opportunity for that—a proper one, not you running off—promise me you’ll take it. Do not hesitate. Okay?”

Dean stared at him intensively for a moment as Castiel eagerly waited for his answer. He didn’t like the heaviness in which Castiel had said it.

Nor what it might imply.

But he nodded. “I will.”

And he meant it.

Just like he also promised himself that he wouldn’t do so without Castiel.

“Good,” said Castiel. He then slowly climbed over him, and after softly kissing the corner of his mouth, he said, “Now, tell me. Would you prefer breakfast in bed or would you rather work up an appetite first,” he said, easing his hand down Dean’s ribs, “and then enjoy a nice breakfast on the balcony?”

Dean immediately grinned from ear to ear.

“I can definitely work up an appetite.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm. And I like the idea of having breakfast on the balcony. I just have one question though.”

“What’s that?”

“How warm is it outside, do you think?”

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?” he said, amused.

“I’m just hoping clothes won’t be necessary.”

Castiel chuckled as he leaned in for another kiss.

Ten days after they had been benched, Castiel and Dean returned to their job. No grave consequences had been unleashed on them because of what had happened on the night of the incident.

And absolutely no mention had been made about their indiscretions.

They continued seeing each other as much as they could after Dean had spent the whole Sunday at Castiel’s apartment, as well as when the ten days break from the job had ceased.

In order to avoid suspicion, however, they had agreed on certain precautions. Since they could only share their time together away from prying eyes, Castiel had given spare keys of his building and apartment to Dean.

They also had made a point of keeping things professional during business hours. The job was already stressful, as was the act of sneaking around, so they reasoned it would be best to not add unnecessary pressure during the drives. 

There was also the worry that they might have been watched after the few snags they had hit in the past.

So, on the night of the jobs, they did everything to the letter, and went their separate ways, as always. No Dean sneaking in at Castiel’s on those nights. And no improvised stops, either.

They kept their hands to themselves.

Better safe than sorry.

Their weekly reports were somewhat nerve-wrecking under Uriel’s watchful eye. But their work in the month that followed was exemplary. Minus one or two nights when they had to use extra precautions, everything had gone smoothly and they didn’t encounter any problem.

A fact that pleased Zachariah, which he had expressed on more than one occasion.

As for the days when they weren’t on the job, unfortunately, Dean wasn’t in a position to run to Castiel every time he wished to.

But in a way, it made the times that they were able to share together, even if for only a few hours, all the more precious.

Dean loved waking up early in the morning and hearing Castiel whisper to his plants while he watered them as though he was an adorable old lady.

He loved how Castiel always kissed him on the shoulder before leaving the bed.

He loved hearing Castiel speak in his sleep, and immediately become quiet again the moment Dean rested his hand on his chest, comforting him.

But his absolute favourite thing was watching him getting dressed in the morning and tend to his clothes. Nothing was as tempting as Castiel in his underwear, buttoning his shirt, as he was deciding which tie to put on.

He had no idea why, but it got him every time. He so desperately wanted to take a picture and keep it to himself, but he knew that even if taken with his personal phone, it was a bad idea.

So, instead, he watched. And paid attention so the details could be engraved into his memory.

They also shared stories. Even the painful ones. Dean told Castiel of his teenage mistake.

“There was this guy in one of my friends’ neighborhood who kids could go to. He, um, basically employed kids to go for joyrides. Not like—this sounds way creepier than it actually was.”

But Castiel had understood. “He paid you to move the cars. Not steal them, but just…take them for a ride and drop them somewhere else.”

“For real estate reasons, we were told. He practically handed us the handbook for ‘how to steal a car.’ It was easy money, so of course, me and a couple of my friends were dumb enough to fall for it.”

“And you didn’t get caught.”

“No. I came close though. A little more often than I should have.”

“The cops?”

“Yeah. That close. Like, I thought they had me. Like what happened with us. That lasted like six months, and then there was this whole situation when some people wanted to know who specifically was involved in the stunt. I—anyway, I was lucky. The guy moved on to other things and the new one didn’t want to rely on kids after all that drama. So, that was the end of that.” But then Dean paused when something occurred to him. “Wait, how did you know I wasn’t caught?”

“The Garrisons. They are really…selective. If you had a record, there was no way they would have offered you that job. They might have offered you other things…but not this. I—I’ve been working for them long enough to know that. Just like I know that what you’ve just told me is definitely why they sought you out. And—”

“And what?”

“I—if I know them like I think I do, Gordon or not, they probably would have made you that offer no matter what. They were just waiting for the right time.”

“When I needed it,” said Dean grimly.

A thought that wasn't remotely reassuring to him.

And then, on a night near the end of the month of May, the topic of past relationships—or the like—had surfaced. Dean, at Castiel’s request, told him about Cain, an older man who he had been seeing the year before, while Castiel listened to him with attention as he devoured orange slices. A nocturnal habit that Dean found rather endearing for some reason.

“I thought you said you didn’t date,” said Castiel, smiling.

“I don’t. _Didn’t._ Trust me, this didn’t count. It was just a few times. I—I’m just mentioning it because, before you, that’s probably the closest thing to dating I had.”

“Why was that?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you date?” Castiel asked again, before he started chewing on another slice. At Dean’s silence, he swallowed quickly and said, “You mentioned it before and I—I was rather surprised.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re kind. And thoughtful,” he added, stepping towards him. “Not to mention gorgeous. I’m having difficulty believing someone could have missed that.”

The truth was there had been a very specific reason why Dean had stayed away from relationships.

It had been a promise he had made to himself long ago.

“Dean? What’s wrong? You look upset.”

“S’okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“It wasn’t my intention to—”

“You didn’t. I…I just don’t like talking about that.”

“You don’t have to say anything if it makes you uncomfortable. Not with me. Not ever.”

Dean shut his eyes. “I know. Which is why I should tell you. I’m probably making this a bigger deal than it is, anyway.”

Castiel rested his hands on Dean’s hips, and it soothed Dean almost instantly. Sliding himself a little closer to him, he took a deep breath.

“It’s…it’s, um, because of my mom. Well, not—not _because_ of her, but—” He stopped talking, frustrated to be tripping on nearly every word. He was grateful that Castiel was letting him talk. “When my mom died, she was very ill. She had been ill for years. Leukemia. But I—ultimately, I know that’s not what killed her.”

Castiel frowned.

But he let Dean finish.

“Losing my dad,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, “that’s what did it. She was recovering and then he died, and she—she, um…” He took another deep breath, feeling his eyes prickling. “I—that kind of—of attachment… turned into so much pain…to the point of… I promised myself that would never be me.”

“Dean.”

“But I was wrong. You’re making me feel like I was wrong to think that. And I’m glad you are.” He kissed him softly on his lips, tasting the oranges. “You're making it worth it. And then some."

Despite sneaking around, the less than perfect job description and uncertain future, Dean thought this had been the best month of his life. He couldn’t remember when he had been this happy.

And that fact slapped him in the face one morning when he was brought back to reality by Samuel.

“What’s with you?” asked Samuel, frowning.

Dean, who had been giddily eating his breakfast next to Sam at the kitchen table, snapped out of his reverie, nearly dropping his fork. He repositioned himself on his seat, and said, “What do you mean?”

“You were humming.”

Dean’s eyes turned to Sam for confirmation, and while Sam remained silent, Dean could see that he was desperately trying to hold down a grin.

“I—sorry. I didn’t know I was.”

And Dean shoved more eggs into his mouth, hoping Samuel would drop the issue.

But he didn’t.

“It’s morning,” he said. “You’re usually half-dead. Grunts or some grumpy comments are usually your way to go at this hour.”

It would have been the perfect occasion to point out to Samuel that _he_ was the one carrying most of said grumpy comments these days, but Dean had no intention of spoiling his good mood, so he decided to keep that remark to himself.

And the moment he did, he realized that he had purposely avoided an argument with Samuel, even though he knew that his point was valid, and that, without Sam’s interference, this was probably a first.

And probably a testament of how deeply happy he was.

“Are you okay?” said Samuel.

Dean bit his lips, trying to hide his smile and nodded at him. Samuel stared at him for a few moments, and then shook his head and left the table.

Assessing his near whimsical mood soon worried him though. As he knew perfectly well, _all good things came to an end_.

The only things Dean wished to end were the shady jobs and Sam’s—and therefore his—restriction to this city.

He knew his chances to ever reach a point in his life when he wouldn’t need to look over his shoulder, not worry about making ends meet, and feel free enough to have a say in many areas of his life, were rather slim. In fact, it would probably never happen, and it was dangerous to believe it would.

But the idea of him taking off into the sunset with Castiel to a tranquil place, away from violence and blackmail, and bringing Sam along with them, was simply too soothing to toss aside completely.

He had to at least hope that they would somehow get out of this perpetual nightmare.

He had to.

And little did he know that massive changes were coming his way.

First, one Sunday, in early June, Dean was stunned to be turned around, due to an “emergency” when he presented himself to Zachariah’s office for the weekly briefing.

Zachariah’s assistant apologized to have made him come all this way and hurriedly showed him the door, telling him that their appointment would most likely take place on the next day.

“Most likely,” she repeated with a fake smile.

Dean left the office feeling troubled, especially when he noticed people rushing down the hallways at a quicker and more aggravated pace than usual.

Something major was going down and he hated being kept in the dark.

Desperately fighting the urge to rush to Castiel’s place, Dean headed back home instead, aware that now was not the time for recklessness.

Dean’s first thought was to employ caution, and therefore, patience.

Not his strong suit.

Needless to say, he found the night very long indeed.

But his patience and carefulness seemed to pay off in the morning, when he received the text for a new meeting time on that very night.

Still somewhat worried about potential trouble, however, he focused on his one glimmer of hope, which was that he would see Castiel later in the evening, even if it wouldn’t be in the context he would have preferred.

The prospect of seeing his face was what Dean was craving.

But the day held a surprise for him.

About an hour before the rush of lunchtime was to begin, Dean was working in the back of the shop, trying to lessen the workload in the afternoon, while Samuel was overseeing his bills and accounts in his small office.

Which was typical.

When Samuel was fed up with numbers, he then told Dean to return to the desk for now, and that he would ask for his help if things got out of hand.

Dean cleaned up quickly, dutifully sat down and stared out the front window, watching people walking by in a hurry in the street.

Feeling anxiety and sorrow weighing on him.

And just as he was telling himself to get a grip, and that he should begin clearing up the desk before it got out of control, a customer entered the shop.

“Welcome to _Campbell’s Dry Clea_ —” Dean stopped talking and stared blankly at the man in front of him.

Castiel.

“— _Cleaners_. I—welcome.”


	10. Chapter Ten: Garrison

Panicking, Dean fixed his shirt and nervously glanced at the window, feeling utterly exposed.

The crowd walking on the street, passing by the shop and carrying on with their day. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

No suspicious vehicle parked outside. Or shady guys lurking around.

Not understanding what Castiel was doing there, he repeated, “Welcome.”

Castiel opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, but shut it quickly.

And before Dean could say anything else, Samuel stepped into the room.

“I thought I heard the bell ring.”

“Hello, sir,” said Castiel, as he took a few steps towards the desk. It wasn’t until that moment that Dean noticed he was holding a garment bag. “I’m just dropping off.”

He rested the bag on the counter.

Desperate to remain calm, Dean cleared his throat and took care of the invoice.

“It’s just one suit.”

“Special occasion?” asked Dean.

“I got a promotion. My superiors suggested that I dress for the occasion.”

“They know you’re here?” asked Dean.

He knew his question wouldn’t make sense to Samuel, but at this point, it no longer mattered.

Castiel nodded.

Confused, Dean felt his heartbeat increasing at his answer. Trying to keep his hand steady, he handed him the receipt.

Which Castiel took hold of while keeping his eyes on him.

Samuel grabbed the bag and asked, “Any stain or special directives?”

Castiel shook his head. “No stain or any damage that I know of.”

“All right, son. It usually takes us four days. Come back any time after that.”

Dean shifted on his feet.

“About that,” said Castiel. “Due to my schedule, I’m afraid I won’t be able to pick it up by then.”

Dean frowned.

Castiel wasn’t blinking and kept his eyes fixed on Dean.

“That’s fine,” said Samuel. “You can come anytime after the four days. Or have someone else pick it up for you. As long as they have the receipt, there’s no issue there.”

Castiel turned to Samuel and said, “Perfect, then.” He put the receipt in his pocket, slowly backed away from the counter, and with a hand on the door handle, giving Dean one last look, he said, “I hope you have a nice day. And since I won’t see you again, thank you for everything. Your kindness was worth the trip and I won’t forget it.”

And he left.

Dean watched him disappear through the crowd as he fought the urge to run after him.

He wasn’t sure he could have done so anyway as it seemed that he had lost the ability to move.

Or breathe.

Or make sense of anything.

He was grounded on that spot forever.

Repressing a wail.

Holding back his tears.

“Dean!”

Startled, he jumped. “Sorry, what?”

Samuel was standing in front of him, observing him carefully. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I—what were you saying?”

Samuel hesitated a moment and then said, “It doesn’t matter, just—stay here.”

“Okay,” said Dean in an empty voice. He clumsily took his seat, attempting to act normally. Samuel said something else, but Dean didn’t register what it was. And then he saw him leave his side, no doubt returning to the back of the shop.

Leaving Dean alone.

To replay the conversation which had just occurred.

And wishing that he had heard Castiel wrong.

He must have.

 _“And since I won’t see you again, thank you for everything._ ”

Won’t see you again? What did he mean? They were supposed to have their weekly briefing later that night. Together.

Breathing was difficult. His chest felt heavy. And his throat was tightening. Panic had spread throughout his entire body and Dean felt like he was about to be sick.

_“And since I won’t see you again, thank you for everything. Your kindness was worth the trip and I won’t forget it.”_

It couldn’t be.

This was not the end.

This was not Castiel saying goodbye to him.

Not that way.

Not ever. ~~~~

The day turned nightmarish after that. Besides constantly checking his phone for another update, and failing to receive one, Dean’s attention span was completely gone. He couldn’t focus on anything. He made clients repeat three times the simplest of information. He dropped things on the floor. He even handed back the wrong garment bag to one woman. Thankfully, she had had the sense to double-check before leaving, and that she hadn’t been upset about the mix-up.

And when Sam arrived from school, the only thing Dean mastered to do was nod and mumble monosyllabic words.

All he wanted was an answer.

An answer explaining Castiel’s morning visit and confirmation that it wasn’t what it seemed. The hours of the afternoon were agonizingly slow, and by early evening, no longer able to stand it, Dean made up some random excuse and left without any dinner.

And when he was finally standing in Zachariah’s office, his stomach turned when he realized that Metatron and Zachariah were waiting for him, while Castiel was nowhere in sight.

“Dean,” said Zachariah, the moment he set foot in the room, “I suggest you take a seat because we have quite a lot to discuss. And the sooner we start, the better.”

Dean had no idea what his face must have looked like, but as he felt his heart racing and his palm sweat, he deeply hoped he didn’t look as alarmed as he felt.

Unable to stop himself, he asked, “Is Cas running late? Should—shouldn’t we wait for him?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Zachariah. “Mr. Novak will not be present at tonight’s report.”

It took just about everything Dean had to not ask “Why?”

He swallowed hard and quietly sat down, nearly tripping on his way there.

Both men were staring at him. Zachariah was standing by the window, in Uriel’s usual spot, while Metatron was comfortably seated behind the desk.

Dean’s ears were ringing.

His entire body felt stiff.

And swallowing was difficult.

Trying to keep his mind from going to the darkest of scenarios was impossible. He needed to know if Castiel was all right. If he was, then nothing else mattered.

“Sorry about the mix-up yesterday, but something came up.”

“S’okay.”

“Today, however, we need to address something different,” said Zachariah. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Dean shook his head as convincingly as he could.

“We know what you’ve been doing.”

Not wishing to make it worse for himself, Dean couldn’t find it in him to deny anything until he knew precisely what they were referring to.

His pulse quickening, he said, “What do you mean?”

The three men exchanged looks.

“Everything, Dean,” said Metatron. “Didn’t you think we wouldn’t have found out?”

Desperate, he prayed they were talking about the whole gruesome affair with Gordon.

Or something else that Dean wasn’t even aware of. Anything but his relationship with Castiel.

That was private. It was the only thing he had ever had that was his own and made him feel good.

And he didn’t want someone exposing it as though it was a dirty secret.

So, he kept his mouth shut.

“We were very clear about the rules. We take that shit to heart.”

Dean’s stomach dropped.

“And you broke them anyway,” continued Zachariah. “I mean, getting some on the side was one thing, but getting him to do your bidding—creating disorder within our ranks—is another. And then, if that wasn’t bad enough, you two went gallivanting together when we strictly forbade it.”

“Cas has—no, he’s been nothing but—it—it was me,” he blurted out. “I—I’m the one who started it.”

Both men looked at each other.

Smirking.

“There is a reason why we set those rules, boy.”

“And Castiel’s track record is becoming an issue,” said Metatron.

“His track record?” asked Dean.

“It has happened before that Mr. Novak—how may I put this— _shared_ more than a car with his driver. Since he had taken on new responsibilities, we hoped that by establishing new ground rules it would keep him in line. But it appears that old habits die hard.”

Dean flinched at his words.

“Oh,” said Zachariah. “Oh, _Dean_. You didn’t think you were the first one, did you?”

Feeling ridiculous for having believed otherwise, Dean lowered his eyes immediately.

“Well, that’s just…unfortunate. I must say though, he did more than just cross the line this time. Which is saying something, I suppose." And then, after a dramatic pause, he added, "It's also the main problem."

Dean turned his eyes on him, just long enough to see the smug on his face, before diverting his gaze quickly.

"So, now that you’ve confirmed it," said Zachariah, "on to the next part: I need you to hand over the phone we gave you.”

Dean frowned.

“You brought it with you, correct?”

Dean nodded, retrieved it from his pocket and delicately put it down on Zachariah’s desk.

“Terrific.” Zachariah, leaving his spot by the window, picked up the phone, turned it on for a second, just to make sure it was still operational, and shoved it into one of his desk drawers.

“Now that that is done, I’ll get to the last part of this meeting, which is us letting you know that, after a long consideration, we are going to have to let you go.”

Dean’s jaw nearly dropped.

“Wh—what?”

“We have decided to…go another way, so your services will no longer be required.”

Dean was lost.

“I—you—you’re firing me?”

Before Zachariah could elaborate, Metatron said, “Mr. Adler, how about I take it from here?”

Zachariah turned his eyes on Dean for a moment, and then gave Metatron a firm nod. And just before leaving the room of his own office, he said, “Best of luck, Dean.”

With his body nearly shaking, Dean took a deep breath, and lifted his eyes to Metatron.

“Now that we’re alone...” Metatron stood up, headed to the liquor table next to the window and poured himself a drink. He lifted a second glass. “Want one?”

“No, thank you. What’s happening?” said Dean in a short breath. “What do you mean you’re firing me?”

“We would rather not put it in that fashion,” said Metatron, walking around the desk with his drink in hand, “but essentially, yes. Usually, given what you did, we would have made examples out of both of you. But last night, when we confronted Castiel about it, we… came to an agreement.”

“What agreement?” said Dean in a broken voice.

“He asked for a favour. We told him the price, he accepted, and here,” he said, gesturing at Dean, “favour granted. You get to walk away. No drama. Not a scratch on you. Absolved of your sins, so to speak.”

“No,” breathed Dean. “No—please, tell me he didn’t do this.”

“He was adamant.”

Feeling sick, Dean shut his eyes, as he asked, “What did he offer?”

Metatron, seemingly amused, pondered on his choice of word for a moment, and then said, “Let’s just say he finally accepted to be the person he was always meant to be.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“That while he has been very…efficient, we always knew he could level up his game. But stubbornly, he held himself back. No matter what we threw at him. Money. Cars. Houses. Privileges. He always said no like it was the line he didn’t want to cross.” Turning his eyes to the side, Metatron said, more to himself than to Dean, “Which was really annoying.” He took a sip of his drink, refocused his attention on Dean, and said with more pep, “But now, he finally caved. _For you_.” Metatron let out a laugh. “After all this time, it’s almost insulting.”

Dean’s mind was running a hundred miles an hour. He was furious. He was terrified. And he was exhausted.

“You can’t force him to do this.”

“ _Now_ ,” said Metatron in a grave tone, “we don’t force anyone here. Did we make you drive those cars? Was there a gun pointed at your head? No. We offered you the opportunity, which you had the choice of accepting or not, and we were very clear about the specifics. Everything we told you was the truth.”

“Right. Except about walking away though,” snapped Dean, who was now angry.

“No, we didn’t lie about that. Anybody is free to quit any time they want.” And then, after a pause, he added, “For a price, of course. Just like everything else in life.”

Dean clenched his jaw.

“And see,” continued Metatron, after taking another sip of his drink, “you are being granted that very option.”

“I didn’t ask for it! And he—” and then, panicking, Dean added, “it’s not fair. What if I refuse? I—how about we do this the other way around? I—I’ll stay and he leaves.”

Metatron chuckled in his drink.

“Yes, as entertaining as turning the tables would be, that’s a no-can-do situation.”

“Why?”

“Um, because I was ready in a heartbeat to keep Castiel, even if it meant letting you go. But the other way around? Don’t take this the wrong way, Dean, but there is no contest there. I mean, you certainly have pedigree potential,” he said, looking at him from head to toe. “Having had time, you could have been something. But Castiel?” Metatron whistled. “There aren’t two like him. This is an employee I personally helped mold since his youth. And he’s finally how I want him. So,” he said, heading to the desk chair, “as I said, you are free to go and do whatever you wish. No one will bother you or your family ever again. And yes, that includes Walker. Castiel mentioned what happened and I can assure you he will never come after you again.”

“No offense, but that’s what Zachariah said last time.”

“And this is _me_ telling you this time. Walker will not be a problem. Nobody will. As long as you respect your own part of the deal.”

Silence.

“All you have to do is keep your nose clean. So, don’t put yourself in a compromising position, such as working for one of our competitors, or directly cross or _interact_ with anyone associated with the Garrisons—Castiel in particular—”

“Wait, what?”

“—and we’re all good. You get to live as best you can with this—rare—opportunity.”

“Why—no—”

“This is non-negotiable. You’re out, _you’re out_.”

“But—I—”

“I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no.”

“I—but—I swear we won’t cause trouble. We—”

“You are seriously expecting me to take your word on this? You do realize why we’re here, right?”

Boosted with anger, Dean said, “And what if I refuse?”

There was pause during which Metatron stared at him blankly, until he burst into a fit of laughter.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” he finally said when his laughter died down. “Besides, we have leverage.”

“Meaning what?”

“For starters, that voids the agreement. And we get to make an example out of you both. And let me tell you, there are people on our payroll who were looking forward to that. If that’s not enough incentive for you, then there’s the fact that we possess compromising evidence that could easily land you in jail.”

Dean blinked.

“Like the fact that you drove around a man who collected hush money, threatened and harmed people—”

“On your behalf! Because you made him—because you made _me_ do—”

“What about the truck _you_ stole then? Even if we cleaned it well, surely, there must be a bit of DNA left somewhere. Not counting the traffic cameras…”

Dean froze.

“And quick question: do you have the justice system on your side like we do? Trust me, we wouldn’t stop simply at what you _did._ We could go much further than that. It’s amazing what we can do with fingerprints, blood samples or DNA these days. Throw in surveillance footage depicting you with questionable company and the sky’s the limit. And the best part is that we have it all. Footage of you actually leaving and returning to this very lounge with Castiel on your first drive. Check. Blood, willfully given at your doctor appointment? Check. Fingerprints? We have your phone. And on and on.”

Dean couldn’t do anything but stare at him. He felt so stupid. Beaten.

They fucking had him.

“But why stop there?” continued Metatron, leaning on his elbows. “Nobody ever bothered your grandfather or his business because we had come to an agreement long ago. Maybe it’s time we revisit that. Perhaps we should stop by. Maybe we could even check on poor Sammy. After what he’s gone through barely a month ago…it would be a pity to repeat the experience.”

Dean had stopped breathing.

“We wouldn’t want that. Or worse. Maybe we should bring back the good classics and burn the whole place down.”

Fire. Like the pharmacy.

Dean felt numb. It was about time he woke up from this damn nightmare.

But nothing happened.

He remained seated, unable to breathe or speak.

“So, with that in mind,” said Metatron, “I really advise you to follow the rules this time around.” And then, after a distinct harsh look at Dean, he said, “And now, I think it’s time for you to leave.”


	11. Chapter Eleven: Keeping Faith

When Dean returned from _The Gates_ that night, he didn’t head straight back home.

He stopped at _Campbell’s Dry Cleaners_ first.

In a state of utter denial at what had just happened, he was determined to believe that this was not the end.

Did he believe that Castiel had sacrificed his own future for him? Yes. A heartbroken, yes.

But did he believe that Castiel had said goodbye? No. Absolutely fucking not.

He didn’t care what Metatron had said. There was no way he would have agreed to those terms.

He was also convinced that Castiel had meant to let him know this.

And the only possible clue Castiel had left him had been the suit he had left in his possession. Not to tell him goodbye.

But for something else.

Dean unlocked the shop and made a beeline for the back room, and searched for Castiel’s suit. And the moment he got his hands on it, Dean felt victorious.

A small bag was attached to it. The kind they left with the clothes when personal objects were found in the pockets. Samuel was always thorough.

While Dean might have felt hopeful for a short second, he quickly became furious once he realized the item was a set of keys, instead of a note or a phone.

And then, the moment he grabbed them, a shock went through his whole body as he realized which keys he was holding.

The keys to the Impala and the storage unit.

Dean swore.

As he stood there in his grandfather’s business, he could tell himself that Castiel had left him the keys to meet him at the storage unit all he wanted, but he knew, deep down, that this wasn’t the reason why Castiel had left him the keys.

This was Castiel returning the car to Dean.

This, above all else, was saying goodbye.

With no second job, which had been depressing to announce to Samuel, and no sneaking around, Dean filled his time in misery.

Missing Castiel. His low voice. His soft touch. His soothing presence.

And his kind heart.

As he had feared, no one came to claim Castiel’s suit, and it was rendering him absolutely mad. He was left to stare at the damn thing every day.

But if it would warrant him to see Castiel—because yes, he had to come back—then Dean concluded that it was worth it.

Worth it to wait by the door.

No matter how pathetic it may have sounded.

But three days had passed.

Then five.

Then a week.

And still nothing.

Slowly losing his grip, he went to check on the car. This trip was both disappointing and heartfelt.

Baby was there, just as he had expected.

But she was the only thing there. 

Every other item Castiel had once possessed was now gone. He had emptied the storage unit, with the clear intent of not returning.

Dean had sat in the car, checked under the seat, in the glove compartment, in the trunk.

But nothing. No note.

The car was clean.

And holding the wheel, feeling his eyes prickling, Dean repeated to himself that, surely, he was missing something.

He was just too stupid to see it.

But after a second, third, and fourth thorough inspection of, not only the car, but the storage unit as well, he still found nothing.

Trying to keep his nerve, Dean then made his way to the main building, asking if the owner of unit nine-one-eight had possibly left any messages for him. Or any additional information—a number, address, email, anything—that could help him.

But it was another dead end.

Dean returned to the unit, dragging his feet, left the door open and sat in his car.

And waited.

Trying to remember another place that Castiel might have mentioned to him in the past.

And waited.

Becoming restless at the idea that this was it.

And waited.

Waited for Baby to work her magic. To bring Castiel to his side. 

He remained seated in the Impala the whole evening, hoping his patience would be fruitful.

Visualizing him. His piercing blue eyes. His chapped lips. His gentle hands.

_His gentle hands._

What horrors were these gentle hands forced to do now?

Who was watching over him, making sure he wouldn't slip over the edge because of it?

Tears rolled down his face. His chest felt heavy. And Dean finally let out a loud sob he had been holding down since Castiel had dropped off his suit at his grandfather’s business.

And by nightfall, when it was clear that Castiel would not come, Dean stepped out of the car with great difficulty, admitting defeat. 

For now.

Since he had found out that the storage unit was pre-paid until the end of the year, after his chat with the clerk, he decided that for now the car would safely remain there.

He didn’t have anywhere to park it at home. And it also gave Dean false hope that he might run into Castiel again.

As he was about to leave after locking the storage unit, he noticed something on the ground near the door.

It was a pack of matches with the logo of what looked to be sharp teeth.

Knowing that it was mostly likely pointless as he had found it outside the storage unit, he decided to hold on to it nonetheless.

Just in case.

The matches soon became an obsession of Dean’s. He needed to know more about them and he had no idea where to start his search. He checked out the most obvious places, like motels and bars, first. But since it was only a logo instead of a name, it was a bit trickier. He contemplated stopping at _MacLeod’s_ to ask, as casually as he could—only to people he trusted, of course—but reasoned against it. The risks were too grand.

He wanted to find Castiel, but he also didn’t want to attract attention to himself that much and so far, he had kept his end of the bargain.

It took him a little while, but eventually, after a deep search on the internet and some local tweets, he managed to discover what the teeth logo stood for.

It was a club, known as “P” on the west side of town. Very underground.

He knew it was weak as far as leads went, and that he couldn’t exactly storm in demanding to see Castiel, on the off chance that he was indeed there, but he figured that it was better than nothing. Just knowing that he had potentially had a way to reach out to him in case of an emergency, was helping him deal.

Little did he know, he would have to resort to this option much sooner than he thought.

In the meantime, he tried his best to focus on his work. He didn’t say much. He didn’t complain. And he spent time with Sam.

Like it used to be.

Although he thought he had done a pretty good job in not completely losing his mind and hiding his discomfort, the silent looks that Samuel shot him suggested otherwise.

Looks of a true genuine concern.

And if Samuel had noticed something was off with him, Sam undoubtedly had noticed as well.

This was confirmed later on a Tuesday night when Sam put his book down, after a long sigh, and took a seat on Dean's bed, where his brother had been lying down, listening to music quietly.

“What’s wrong, Dean?”

“Nothing.”

Sam pursed his lips.

“You’ve barely said two words to me over the last couple of days. I wasn’t gonna mention how out of it you look because it’s almost sad now, but it’s—” he cleared his throat. “Just—I just wanna know you’re okay. You—you don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to—or because you can’t—but just let me know you’re okay. Or will be.”

Staring at the ceiling, Dean swallowed hard. He took a deep breath and sat up, facing Sam.

His eyes fell on his splint.

“I’m okay. I—I will be. Things aren’t…great right now.” He took a moment to choose his words properly and said, “I’m just trying to find a solution to a problem and until I do that, the best I can do is wait.”

“That’s not really your style,” scoffed Sam.

“No, it isn’t,” said Dean, almost smiling. ~~~~

“It’s about Cas, isn’t it?”

Dean lowered his eyes.

“It’s about a lot of things. But yes, Cas is one of them. The main one.”

He could feel Sam’s penetrating stare on him, waiting for him to elaborate.

But Dean didn’t trust himself to say more than that.

And after a long minute of silence, during which Sam was working out what it could mean, he finally said, “I’m sure everything will be okay. And tell Cas hello from me the next time you see him.”

Forcing a smile on his face, Dean said, “Will do.”

And they remained quiet for the rest of the night.

Then, one evening not long after that, when Dean was in the neighborhood’s grocery store with Sam and their grandfather for a quick refill of provisions, something else happened, which brought both fear and relief.

As Dean and Sam were arguing about cereal, Sam suddenly gasped and the box of Lucky Charms he was holding fell to the ground.

“The hell is wrong with—”

Sam immediately gripped Dean’s sleeve and nodded down the aisle.

Confused, Dean turned around, only to find himself face to face with Gordon.

Instinctively, Dean nudged Sam behind him, while he and Gordon glared at each other.

Dean then broke eye-contact to glance to his side, looking for a quick exit, expecting the worst.

But nothing happened.

Gordon simply stared down at him. He didn’t launch at him. He didn’t even harbor his annoying smirk, either.

And then, after what felt like a long, stressful minute, he finally said, “Sorry. I didn’t know you were here. That’s my bad. I’ll make sure to take my business elsewhere.” And then, before leaving for good, he added, “Be sure to tell them— _him_ —that. That I won’t come back. Okay? This was really an accident.”

And he left. He hadn’t run, but he certainly hadn’t lingered, either.

The door shut behind Gordon, and Dean let out a sigh of relief. Keeping his eyes on the door, as though he wanted to make sure Gordon wouldn’t just burst back in with back-up, he said, “Sam, you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I—I just panicked when I saw him. I thought—but it’s fine. Cas took care of it.”

Yes, thought Dean. In more ways than one.

And as comforting as that was, Dean, again, hated the thought. Seeing Gordon abiding by the rules, something that Dean had sincerely doubted he would, now felt like another closure related to all things Castiel.

The job. The suit. The car. Gordon.

And it was enough to make Dean lose the ability to smile forever.

“What’s going on?”

Dean turned around abruptly to find Samuel at the other end of the aisle, standing behind him and Sam.

“Wha—nothing,” said Sam.

“Why did Gordon say that?”

“What do you—” Sam had begun saying, which Dean appreciated him trying to play dumb, but he knew that now was not the time. So, he pulled on his arm gently, shot him a quick look, and then looked at his grandfather.

“Just a misunderstanding, that’s all. But it’s done, now.”

Samuel remained silent. His eyes then fell on Sam for a second, and then back on Dean, clearly not appeased by Dean’s vague answer.

Nevertheless, he didn’t comment on it, simply sighed loudly and asked them if they had chosen their cereal already.

As though the situation wasn’t dire enough as it was, things took another bad turn when Samuel called in for a “family dinner” on the very next day.

Due to their financial struggle, and the fact that Dean no longer had the extra income of his second job, Samuel announced to the boys, rather grimly, that he could no longer keep the business open, nor the apartment.

Dean had always known it to be a possibility, but he had truly believed they could have managed to survive until Sam finished high school.

“I’ll find another job,” he blurted out.

“I’ll put more hours at the shop!” yelled Sam.

But Samuel shook his head. This, it appeared, was a long time coming, and Samuel had known for some time that there was no escaping this.

“The only reason we made it this far in the year was because of the sudden increase in Dean’s income. I thought that way, we could have made it till summer, but then the rent went up, and there was the medi—” Samuel stopped mid-sentence. “The bottom line is that we have two options. We could try to keep the apartment, continue living here. But that’s…despite our struggles, we were lucky because we had the business. I can’t imagine what we’d be able to do here if we don’t have it."

And this was putting it mildly, thought Dean. Even if by some miracle all three of them managed to find employment on the very next day—which was highly doubtful—that still wouldn't be enough.

And there lay the second option: let go and move on somewhere else.

To Sioux Falls, South Dakota to be exact.

Samuel’s old friend Isaac, who Dean had met briefly not that long ago, had an old acquaintance, named Robert Singer, who lived there and was ready to help.

According to Samuel, if they left now, while they still had some dignity attached to them, instead of trying to save face and inevitably failing, they could have a new start there.

Singer had a large property, where all three of them could live until they could stand on their feet. He had also mentioned that the town’s sole dry-cleaning business was in need of a new manager and that the job was Samuel’s, should he desire it. It wouldn’t be his business, but it was better than nothing.

“The schools are great for Sam,” he continued. “We’d have much more space than we do now.”

Well, Samuel had won Dean's favour by simply mentioning the words "school" and "Sam" in the same sentence. Dean would never argue against that idea. 

Then, Samuel turned to Dean. “Singer is a mechanic. He said he’d most likely hire you on the spot if you can hold your end, which I know you can.” Samuel then retrieved a card from his pocket and slid it towards Dean. It was Singer's business card. The one Isaac had given to Samuel weeks ago.

Nearly stunned, Dean said, “You want me to come, too?”

“Of course. I can’t force you. And I—I don’t know if you can. But I hope so. And I think we all deserve a fresh start.”

Of course, with the business closing its doors and Samuel already having a job lined up in Sioux Falls, it meant that they had to move very soon.

Much sooner than Dean would have liked.

He knew that he was expected to ‘move on’ but there was no way in hell he was going to do this without Castiel safe and at his side.

Every single thing that had happened since that last meeting had only confirmed one thing he needed to know: that aside from Sam, and possibly Samuel, Castiel was the only person who ever gave a damn about him.

And he was not about to just give up because some ass-hat who thought himself better than anyone else told him to.

Fuck that.

But as it was nearly impossible to help Castiel right now, he couldn’t fathom how he would be able to change anything from Sioux Falls.

And if he wanted this mess fixed, free Castiel from under Metatron’s thumb, and be with Castiel as they ought to, Dean was now seriously running out of time.

Which was why, in an act of desperation, Dean went to the “P” club in the hope of finding Castiel there.

He knew it was a bad idea. He knew the chances of finding him there were slim. And he knew it would probably change nothing in the big scheme of things, but he had to try.

Short of going to his apartment building, which was most definitely being watched, he decided that this was his best option to see him.

It was his only option to see him.

And he had to. There was no way he would leave this goddamn city without trying. No way.

On his way there, he had his doubts that they would let him in. But they turned out to be unfounded, as Dean had the good sense to bring the pack of matches and showed it to the bouncer at his arrival.

The bouncer opened the door with a wide smile, as though he was about to devour him whole, which was incredibly unnerving.

The club was loud and over the top. Too many people grinding against each other.

This wasn’t his scene and he couldn’t imagine Castiel here, either.

He tried to blend in and not attract too much attention, as he moved across the room, desperate to spot him.

After a while, however, feeling the heat and thin air, his hope drastically dropped.

Frustrated and feeling crushed in the middle of this crowd, Dean rushed to the bathroom.

He splashed water over his face, as he took deep breaths.

The door opened behind him and then someone said, “What in the hell are you doing here?”

Looking up in the mirror, Dean saw Castiel standing behind him. He was wearing a plain dark suit, even his shirt. Only his tie was a bright blue which made it pop.

Dean turned around to make sure it was really him, and before he even had the time to say one word, Castiel was already pulling him towards him, clutching onto his jacket, with his mouth urgently pressing itself against his lips.

Light-headed.

Heartbeat racing.

Intense quivers.

And craving for more.

Dean couldn’t believe that he had managed to find him.

Castiel gently nudged him into one of the bathroom stalls when they both paused after hearing voices on the other side of the bathroom door.

With their newfound semi-privacy, Dean and Castiel didn’t waste any time. Glued to him, Dean was unable to slow down. He sucked on Castiel’s bottom lip and had both arms wrapped around him, as though he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t slip away from him again.

He let out a faint moan when Castiel sharply rolled his hips against him.

But they eventually broke the kiss to catch their breaths. And the moment they did, their quick moment of passion turned into their sad reality again.

Loud laughter echoed in the bathroom, as the small group who had burst in right after Castiel now exited the bathroom.

The door shut behind them.

And only the music from the club was heard.

“What are you doing here?” groaned Castiel.

“I needed to see you. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too. But Dean,” he said in a lament. His hand rested on his cheek. “You promised. You said you would walk away should the opportunity come your way. I hoped that you’d be out of here by now. I made sure no one would bother you. And I even returned the car to you so you—”

“It’s not the car I want,” he hissed at him, unable to contain his emotions any longer. He shut his eyes tightly, with tears rolling down his face. “I can’t do any of that knowing you’ll be still here.”

Castiel looked at him gravely.

“You’re going to have to.”

Dean shook his head.

“You _have_ to,” he repeated.

“But I—Samuel, he—” Panicking, Dean tripped on his words.

“Samuel what? Did something happen?”

“No, he—the business. I—it’s closing. We’re moving. To South Dakota.”

Castiel blinked. He hadn’t expected that. He nodded, digesting the information. “Good.”

“No,” snapped Dean, gripping his jacket. “Not good. Unless you’re coming with us.”

Letting out a broken sigh, he said, “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why did you do this? I mean, I know why, but… _Why_?”

“Because you deserve it. Because after everything I’ve done, I needed to do something good. And it was the easiest decision I’ve made. Even if—even if it was also the most difficult one, too.”

Castiel brushed a tear off Dean’s face with his thumb.

“This is why I went to see you at your grandfather’s business. It wasn’t all I wanted to say, but I didn’t want it to end like this, either,” he said, gesturing around them. “For once, I wanted it to be out in the open. Not hidden away.”

But Dean wasn’t listening. “There has to be a way to—to fix things for you, too.”

“Maybe one day. But it won’t be by you.”

The main bathroom door swung open again, nearly making them both jump.

“Hey! Pretty boy? You done pampering yourself?”

Castiel put his finger over Dean’s mouth, and said, “Just a minute.”

“Hurry up! He’s gonna leave soon.”

The voice fell silent, but the door remained closed. Whoever was waiting for Castiel, they hadn’t left the room yet.

Castiel carefully hugged Dean tightly and whispered in his ear, “As soon as I leave the bathroom, you hurry down the hallway to your left and get out of here. Don’t turn around. Don’t come back.”

He let go of him, looked him straight in the eye, and said as low as he could, “And you take the car and Sam, and you get out of here.”

And with a sad smile, Castiel kissed him quickly, yet tenderly, on the lips, and once on his forehead.

Holding his gaze on Dean, he slowly stepped back. Dean, still clutching on to one of his hands, tried to make him stay.

But Castiel pushed open the door of the stall and withdrew his hand.

Until Dean lost his grip on him.

Castiel and the man exchanged a few words. The water tap ran. And then the door opened once again.

And then nothing.

And Dean, still leaning on the wall, exactly where Castiel had left him, brought his hands to his face as he fought down a deep sob.

But he quickly wiped his tears, took a deep breath, and followed Castiel’s instructions to exit the club.

Hating himself every second of it.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Thank You

Since Samuel had brought Sam and Dean to live with him after their parents’ deaths, Dean had done nothing but look forward to the day when he would finally be able to leave this place. So much so that, if it hadn’t been for Sam, Dean would have left well before his eighteenth birthday.

And now that this fateful day was finally around the corner, he would have given just about anything to stay.

As Samuel was expected to start his position in Sioux Falls in the last week of the month, they hadn’t delayed with the process of the moving. So, for the next two weeks, Dean had kept busy with packing and the closure of the store.

In theory, it should have been a welcome distraction, but it had done very little.

Everything had been like a blur to him since that night at the club.

The days had been long and tepid. The warm weather had been insufferable.

He had never felt so shattered in his life.

And when he considered the price of the clean slate he had been awarded in the end—something he would have never been able to acquire had it not been from Castiel—Dean wished he had never taken that job. Knowing what it had cost Castiel, _and_ him, he would have preferred continuing working for Gordon. He would have likely still felt miserable. But that sounded like a far better option than what he was feeling right now.

Worn out. Hopeless. Broken-hearted.

Only Castiel’s goddamn suit, still needing to be claimed, had helped Dean get out of bed in the mornings and make an effort to appear as a functional human being.

He had found some comfort, however, in the fact that Sam seemed to be looking forward to the move. Which had not surprised him. Sam had always managed to find the positive side of things. Far better than him, in any case.

He was plagued with moments of folly, imagining himself rushing to Castiel’s doorstep and dragging him out of there himself. Living a life on the run. At least, that way, they would be together, which was better than the situation he had at the moment.

But he knew, of course, that it was out of the question. If it had been possible, Dean was sure that Castiel could have turned to that option long before they had even met.

Besides, Castiel had told Dean himself that this was ill-advised, and even if by some miracle they managed to escape the Garrisons’ grasp, Sam and Samuel would definitely not.

And neither Dean nor Castiel would risk it.

As they were packing away some of their belongings and selling those that they couldn’t bring along with them, there was still one item that needed to be brought up: Baby.

Seeing no point in hiding it anymore, Dean had informed Samuel (and Sam) that his father’s Impala was in his possession.

“Don’t ask me how I got it. I can’t tell you. But I promise it wasn’t done illegally,” was all he had told his grandfather.

Perhaps it was due to Dean’s general state of exhaustion, but surprisingly enough, Samuel’s only reply had been a firm nod.

The fact that Dean had his own vehicle, however, had brought them some respite in completing their tasks.

Because there were still a few things to be taken care of with the closure of the store by the time Samuel had to head to Sioux Falls, it was decided that he and Sam would leave, while Dean would oversee the last details and join them on his own within the following week.

Dean and Samuel had momentarily discussed the possibility of leaving Sam with Dean to give him extra time at his school, but they decided against it. Leaving with Dean or Samuel, Sam would not be able to finish his school year in Chicago, so why delay the inevitable?

Dean had a feeling though, that Sam’s schooling hadn’t been the real reason why Samuel had contemplated the idea. In a not so subtle manner, Samuel had constantly questioned Dean about his schedule once he and Sam would have left.

Not because he was worried that Dean would mess up the remaining tasks left to be done before the closure of the store.

No. Considering the looks and Samuel’s comments about Sioux Falls and Robert Singer, Dean was convinced it was because Samuel feared that Dean would simply not follow them to South Dakota.

Or worse, do something incredibly reckless.

And Dean had to admit that, given the multitude of crazy scenarios constantly popping into his mind, it was something to worry about.

For now, he was simply grateful for the extra time, even if he knew nothing would come of it.

Thus, when it was time for Samuel to leave, Dean helped them pack the truck, wished them a good trip and promised he would meet them shortly.

A promise that he knew he wasn’t in a position to break.

He nevertheless stalled as long as he could, hoping every day that a solution would manifest itself.

Waiting for Castiel to return for his suit. To return for him.

And a week later, when all that was left for him to do was to pick up his bag, lock up behind him and drop off the keys to the owner, Dean knew he could no longer delay the inevitable.

Taking his time, he went to the Wings Storage Facility to get his car.

The storage unit was just as he had left it, with the Impala as its sole contents.

No note. No more pack of matches on the ground. And, of course, no Castiel.

Dean made sure to stop by the main building once more to inquire about the unit’s owner, and once again, he was given no answer.

Refusing to leave without informing Castiel of his whereabouts, Dean did the only thing he could think of. He left Robert Singer’s Auto Shop business card, tucked into the light switch’s frame. Singer’s full address was printed on it.

Just in case.

He was under the impression that if Castiel desired to know the location of Dean’s new residence, he wouldn’t have any trouble finding out by himself. While Dean had already told him that he was heading to South Dakota, all Castiel needed to do was to inquire about their whereabouts with their neighbours, and one of them was bound to point him in the right direction.

That was what he kept telling himself should the card never reach him.

Once Baby was out of the storage unit, Dean locked up the unit properly, left the spare keys to the clerk desk and returned home.

He parked Baby in Samuel’s parking spot, and after sighing deeply, he returned to the empty apartment, where he slept for a whole twelve hours.

He stayed two more days, until finally, after a concerned phone call from Sam, Dean promised he would leave the next morning. Very soon, he wouldn’t be able to access the apartment or the shop anyway.

The night had been long and exhausting. He spent most of his time, once again, fighting the urge to jump in his car and rush to Castiel’s building apartment—at some point, he even got dressed and had his keys in hand—until morning finally came.

And if he hadn’t dared driving by Castiel’s by then, even if it was what he desperately wanted, he knew he never would.

He parked the Impala in front of the store and packed his duffle bag and a few boxes that hadn’t fit into Samuel’s truck.

And Castiel’s suit, of course. Dean had long debated if he should have left it at the storage unit, but he eventually had ruled against it.

It was silly, but Dean couldn’t bear to part with it.

If Castiel wanted his suit, he had to come and get it himself, and Dean was ready to hold on to it until he could do so, no matter how long it would take him.

Once the car was packed, and the apartment and shop were empty, Dean returned the keys to the owner who happened to live a few blocks from there.

Feeling somewhat nostalgic and wanting to enjoy one last thing from the city of Chicago before his departure, Dean had opted to walk there with the plan of stopping by _Turner’s Deli_ one last time on his way back.

With a bag full of burritos for the road, complementary from Rufus himself, Dean ambled down Hunter Street to the Impala.

And once he had nearly reached his car, he paused and stared at the shop that was formerly known as _Campbell’s Dry Cleaners_ for a moment.

Feeling his eyes almost prickling at the “For Rent” sign in the window, even though it had been hanging for weeks, he cleared his throat and ran his hand over his face, hoping it would help the situation.

“You know, you can be so stubborn sometimes.”

Dean’s heart jumped.

He turned around and found Castiel, leaning against the Impala, with both hands in his pockets.

Waiting for him.

In broad daylight.

For everyone to see.

“Cas, wha—what are you doing here?” Dean heard himself say. A force of habit prompted him to glance around them nervously, assessing any potential threats. Nobody on the street was paying attention to them. Nobody was lurking around, either.

But that didn’t reassure Dean in the least.

While not being exactly mellow looking, Castiel didn’t appear to be on the fence as he had been on the few occasions when they had found themselves in public.

He stepped away from the Impala and slowly advanced towards Dean, which only increased his worry.

Backing away from him, Dean said in a low voice, “Cas, don’t.”

Castiel came to a halt. Grounded on his spot, he opened his mouth, but shut it, having a change of heart. He took a deep breath, glimpsed to his side a moment, and then said, “I was so furious with you when I saw you at that club." ~~~~

“Shit. Did—did I ruin it? Did—”

“You didn’t ruin anything. Well,” he said, tilting his head, “you did pretty much destroy any illusion I had that I could let you go.” He paused, and then he added, smiling at him, “But I’ll forgive you.”

Disconcerted, Dean stared at him. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought the man was drunk.

“Cas, I—I don’t understand. Why are you here? _How_ can you be here right now?”

And then, to Dean’s astonishment, Castiel’s smile widened.

“You haven’t checked headlines this morning, have you?”

More confused than ever, Dean shook his head.

Castiel stepped towards him. And while Dean was still nervous, he didn’t back away this time.

“The most curious thing happened…” and as though he was about to begin a long tale, he then stopped, and said quickly, “Do you want the short version or the long one?”

“I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Right. Okay, well, to simplify things, let’s just say that the empire is dead.”

Dean frowned. “What—what do you mean? Like the—” he stopped and glanced around them once more, and said in a low voice, “you mean the Garrisons?”

“Yes, them,” he said chipperly.

“What? How?”

“Well, that’s the long story. But it seems that many of their subordinates felt that they had pushed their demands to the extreme over the last year, and many grew tired of it. Which turned out to be beneficial for their competitors. One of their competitors to be exact.”

“Who?”

“They call her Dr. Hess. I’ve heard of her—and her organization—over the years, but I had never met her.”

Dean blinked at the name.

“Oh, you’ve heard of her too.”

“In a manner of speaking, yeah,” said Dean, remembering Isaac’s conversation with Samuel. But then he added, “Okay, so…what you’re saying is that…what? There was a mutiny or whatever, and basically, Hess is in charge and the Garrisons are toast?"

Castiel nodded.

Feeling a mixture of excitement and apprehension, Dean said, “Okay, but—what does that mean? For you? Us? Hell, everyone?”

“The Garrisons, as well as all their ‘highly trusted’ employees have been apprehended, and the rest, those Hess' gang deemed harmless and low enough on the food chain were let go. The ones in the gray area…well, it was a process.”

Castiel took another step.

“When I saw you that night at the club… I meant what I said. You do deserve it, Dean. You deserve to be happy. And you stubbornly followed me and insisted that you wanted none of it without me…”

“I meant it.”

“I know.” For the first time on that day, Castiel seemed upset. He lowered his eyes and swallowed hard. He took a deep breath and took another step. Now standing within Dean’s reach, Castiel gently took hold of his hand. “Thank you.” He shifted on his feet, bringing himself closer to him still. “Thank you for not giving up on me. For being so fucking stubborn and—” Choking on his sentence, Castiel shut his mouth tight.

Dean, feeling his throat tightening, said, “I can’t believe I almost left. I can’t believe I almost left _you_ here to—”

“You didn’t.”

“The car is packed and I—I literally bought food for the road,” he said, lifting his bag of burritos. “I—I—”

“And you made sure I knew exactly where to find you.” Castiel retrieved something from his pocket and showed it to Dean.

Robert Singer’s business card.

Castiel gently took hold of Dean’s face. “Thank you. Without you, I would have never done what I should have done a long time ago.”

And Dean, who a moment ago had felt warm fuzzy feelings spread in his chest, was now hit with a sense of dread that shook him to his core.

“What—what the fuck did you do?”

But Castiel was smiling. “It’s okay, Dean. We’re okay.” He paused a moment, and then said, “I did many things for the Garrisons that I—you can’t erase that. And saying I never wanted to do it and that I deeply regret having done so, is not enough. Which was a problem when Dr. Hess came into power. But since they judged me sensible enough, and were also fully aware of my so-called skills, and my knowledge of the Garrisons, they gave me a chance to…plead my case, I suppose.”

Dean listened with attention, feeling his heartbeat intensifying.

“If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have dared to ask for what felt like the impossible. I would have…accepted my fate. Knowing you were out there, safe and sound, away from all this, I thought that was the most I could ever have hoped for. And the fact that I had succeeded…I didn’t want to tamper with that. But I was wrong. It wasn’t fair of me to give up when you hadn’t. And the idea that I could finally leave all this behind and be with you, nothing—and I mean, _nothing_ —beat that. So, I did what I had to do and another agreement was made.”

“Like what?” said Dean, nearly aggravated.

“Mostly? I gave them information. There were other things too, but it doesn’t matter now. As long as I leave and never cause an issue, I get to enjoy my retirement.”

“But…how can you be sure? What if the Garrisons return and—”

“They won’t. And trust me, they’d have bigger fish to fry.”

“What if—”

“Dean, listen to me, if I was worried about Hess, the Garrisons, or anyone, do you really think I’d be standing here? Putting you in the line of fire is just about the last thing I’d ever do.” And he leaned in, stopping just before his lips reached Dean’s. “Standing here, in front of everyone, would I do this?”

And their lips met. The assertiveness in which Castiel was kissing Dean was enough to render him light-headed. He wasn’t holding back. His arms wrapped around him tightly, and the next thing Dean knew, he had let go of his bag and gripped Castiel’s coat, meeting Castiel’s intensity.

Forgetting everything around them.

They eventually broke the kiss and stared at each other.

“This is really happening? You—you can come with me? We can just—”

“Walk into the sunset?” said Castiel, smirking. “Although, I suppose our situation is more _drive_ off on the open road…in broad daylight.”

Dean burst into laughter. Still holding onto Castiel’s coat, he took a moment to process it all.

He then turned to Castiel. “So, you up for a road trip?”

“I thought you’d never ask. Shall we? I’m sure you must have done so, knowing you, but I checked the itinerary and—”

“Okay, hold on,” said Dean, amused at Castiel’s eagerness. “What about your stuff? Your books? Your suits?”

“I carried what I could,” he said, nudging his foot at the suitcase beside him that Dean hadn’t even noticed until then. “And I’ll just have to get new ones when we arrive in Sioux Falls, that’s all.”

“And you don’t mind relocating there? I have no idea what to expect, but I’m pretty sure there won’t be a lot of excitement there.”

“Good. I think I’ve had my fill,” said Castiel, interlocking his fingers with Dean’s. “You’re the only excitement I’m looking forward to.”

“Wow,” said Dean, trying not to laugh. “Someone really took their happy pills this morning, huh? And what are you going to do once we get there?”

“Anything,” he said, excited at the prospect. “Isn’t that amazing? I get to decide. Maybe I’ll become a mechanic, like you,” he said, which made Dean chuckle. “Or perhaps I’ll work with Samuel for a change.”

This time, without meaning to, Dean made a face at the suggestion.

“No?” said Castiel, laughing.

Given Castiel’s love for suits, Dean could see this premise of Castiel working at a dry-cleaning business panning out. But the idea of Castiel working _with_ Samuel seemed so strange to him, picturing it felt almost wrong.

“I don’t really mind what it is, Dean. All I know is that I don’t have to do the one thing I don’t want to do. Ever again.” He inhaled deeply, looking so delighted at the notion, that Dean couldn’t help but feel a warm fuzziness spread in his chest. “I can allow myself to seek out new things and find out what I do like. And you know the best part?”

Beaming at him, Dean shook his head.

“I get to discover all of it with you.”

He kissed him on the cheek.

And after staring at him fondly, Dean said, “Can’t wait.”

He took one last look at the shop and the apartment above it, remembering the first time he had set eyes on it.

And then turned to Castiel, beside him, next to the Impala.

“Ready?”

And Dean’s answer was a soft kiss to his lips.

He took his seat, and turned the ignition key once Castiel was seated next to him. Hearing the engine roar, a grin appeared on his lips, and he ran one hand over the dash.

“Is it okay if we take the scenic route?”

Castiel’s smile widened. “With many stops along the way?”

Dean chuckled.

“To stretch your legs?”

“Something like that.”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, 
> 
> Thank you to [Danica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danica_Dust/pseuds/Danica_Dust) who is always helpful and so incredibly supportive. Please, if you are in need of spn reading material, check out her fics, she is a wonderful writer ❤️ 
> 
> Thank you Landrala, who is also always helpful and ready to read my stuff. 
> 
> Thank you to Sissyray! Your art is so wonderful 😍 I am so happy to have worked with you on this project. I can't wait to see what you do next.  
> Here is the link of her [Tumblr post](https://sissyray84.tumblr.com/post/622321967321808896/master-art-post-for-bdbb-2020-hello-guys-i-singed) for the fic (and on Twitter for the [nsfw art](https://twitter.com/thestarkeeper21/status/1277843258983489536?s=20) which is gorgeous)
> 
> Thank you mods! This was an awesome challenge! 
> 
> And thank you all for reading. It means a lot and I hope you enjoyed the fic.  
> I hope you all have a nice day and that you are safe ❤️


End file.
